


Sugar, Sin, the Bones of Saints

by furiedheart



Category: Chris Hemsworth - Fandom, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom, hiddlesworth - Fandom
Genre: Chris does not ask Tom's permission every time they have sex, CollegeProfessor!Chris, Daddy Kink, Fluff and Smut, HighSchoolStudent!Tom, M/M, Oral Fixation, Underage - Freeform, hiddlesworth au, possible sugar addiction, tom is younger than chris
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-08
Updated: 2014-11-08
Packaged: 2018-02-24 13:55:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2583764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/furiedheart/pseuds/furiedheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom is 16 and works at the local library. Chris is 33 and a college professor who goes to the local library to research and write his dissertation paper. Tom decides that he really likes the young professor and tries to catch his eye, while dealing with his mediocre boyfriend and a severe oral fixation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sugar, Sin, the Bones of Saints

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! This story is based on a prompt I got on tumblr from ray0fsunsh1n3, who requested an AU story with "Tom as a high school student that works at the local library and Chris is a college professor or a grad student that comes into the library for research, but upon meeting Tom, he keeps coming back for more." Thanks for the prompt, Gaby! :)
> 
> I listened to a lot of Radiohead while writing this, particularly [Creep](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XFkzRNyygfk), [Street Spirit (Fade Out)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IrTB-iiecqk), and [Exit Music (For a Film)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zzhepWIImj4). I included a bit of it in the story, too :)
> 
> In my head, [this](http://mi-delirio-es-el.tumblr.com/post/102012879108) is how I see Professor Chris, and [this](http://mi-delirio-es-el.tumblr.com/post/93520238478/throwback-thursday-tom-hiddleston-in-the) is how I see teenager Tom (except with fluffier hair like [this](https://33.media.tumblr.com/734ad268ac92ce2a7566bfe0ceea9f40/tumblr_ndy765A8M41ram40eo2_500.jpg)).
> 
> I had the hardest time coming up with a title and my beta, duskyhuedladysatan, and I brainstormed forever. Thank you, my dearest, for editing and helping me come up with this one! <3 You are the bestest ever and I don't know what I did to deserve youuuuu!
> 
> UPDATE UPDATE!!!  
> This story now has a fan art! I am floating right now. It's so beautiful! Thank you to [treemuse](http://treemuse.tumblr.com) for this amazing gift. You are so so sweet <3 Please check it out [here](http://treemuse.tumblr.com/post/103217951553/mi-delirio-es-el-treemuse-i-was-inspired-by#notes)

Tom stifled a yawn and then popped his gum loudly, foot tapping to the echo of a song in his head. The clock on the wall told him it was almost closing time, and the person he'd hoped to see today still hadn't come in. He sighed and jumped off the stool he'd sat in most of the afternoon. A few library patrons still lingered at the monitors along the computer station, and in the children's corner a group of teenagers sat on the jigsaw puzzle carpet giggling over some teen beat magazine; over by the history section a lone old man stood thumbing through a book on the attack on Pearl Harbor. Tom was in charge of making the rounds and letting everyone know that the library would be closing in ten minutes. Then he would collect all the books and magazines and other items left strewn about, and return them to their shelves, shut down all the computers and arrange the children's toys into the scratched and tattered treasure chest.

Strawberry gum popping quietly in his mouth, he went about reminding everyone of the time. Besides ushering people out at the end of the evening and tidying up behind the patrons, his main duty was to sit behind the counter and help anyone with questions and answer the phone. He fetched books, made reservations, checked items out, posted flyers on the bulletin board next to the automatic front doors, locked and unlocked the events room, where free sessions on tax education, health and wellness, arts and crafts, and plenty other subjects were held for the community. Tom's favorite class was self-defense on Tuesday nights. Chairs and tables stacked against the walls, the group of mostly women would stand in loose lines as the instructor, a well-muscled black man with graying hair and low voice, would lead them from the front. He would maneuver the women around, setting up partners of two, and establish different scenarios and the appropriate responses in case any of the participants were attacked, and then have the class try them out on each other.

Tom would stand just outside the door, pretending to adjust and restock the bin of pamphlets in the hallway, mouth parted and eyes wide as he learned about where in the body was most effective to hit (groin, inner knee, throat, eyes) and how being loud and making a scene would often be life savers.

April had just started and the end of his sophomore year was approaching. Tom had snagged the library job when the girl who used to work it moved away with her family mid-semester. Before becoming an employee, Tom had volunteered at the library after school and on weekends, and he’d begun expressing interest in replacing the girl just after he’d found out about her move. He knew the responsibilities and library customs well, so the head librarian was more than happy to hire him on, telling him he could take the afternoon shift. He’d just turned sixteen in February, and Tom knew he could find plenty else to do to keep him occupied after school, but he liked the quiet well enough, the bits of dust that rose from the pages of a book he was shelving, the soft murmurs of those hunched over tables and computer screens. It was also the last place his boyfriend, David, would be caught alive in. And sometimes, he just needed a break from David.

They'd been going out for a few months now, and Tom was quickly becoming anxious about the whole thing. David was alright. Tom liked kissing him and all the hugs. But there was something obnoxious about the way David laughed, and the way he spent all of his spare time at the skater park two blocks away, skidding over all that dirty concrete with his other guffawing friends. Whenever he tracked Tom down, he would be covered in a fine layer of chalk dust, smelling of burned rubber, his hands rough on him. And anyway, they hadn't exactly come out publicly about being together, so the only times David managed to get Tom alone were at school under the bleachers behind the old baseball diamond and when he would go to Tom's house, where he would sit at Tom's window. The windowsill was as far as Tom would let him go, talking and kissing quietly there, headlights flashing over them every now and then.

Tom found himself daydreaming less and less about David and his tickling kisses and more about Chris, the tall and often harried looking professor from the local university who’d been making frequent appearances at the library in the last few months. He wasn't exactly kidding himself when he admitted that he was _starting_ to daydream about the young professor—a thirty-three-year-old whose last name was Hemsworth and who had the loveliest pair of wide shoulders Tom had ever seen—because he'd been thinking of him since the first day Chris had walked into the library in February, unwinding his knitted beige scarf, long hair curling just under his ears. Having the good sense to look back at their initial meeting and cringe, Tom remembered sitting up in his chair, jaw dropping as Chris hurried past him, not even once sparing a glance in Tom's direction. He'd promptly disappeared into the art history section. Tom was still sitting slack-jawed behind the desk when Chris reappeared again and left just as quickly.

It was easy enough after that to look out for the tall man, his blond head standing higher than nearly everyone else. He came into the library most evenings, which Tom was grateful for, as his shift lasted from five in the afternoon until closing time at nine o'clock. He could usually complete most of his schoolwork during his time at work. The library staff were very understanding, letting him use the computers for research and typing up his papers. Or else he would have his binders and books open at the front counter, where he would be able to still check books out and search for any requested items as he studied. If he happened to find himself shelving books in the aisle adjacent to the one where the head librarian and the blond giant happened to be talking quietly, it was by pure accident. This was how he discovered the man's name was Chris and that he was a third year Art History professor—"Lower tier only," he'd said once, stealing Tom's breath with the low register of his voice. "I still need my PhD for any of the advance level courses"—and that he was researching some church in Spain for his doctoral defense. A quick search on the university's website gave Tom more information. Next to the most adorable picture—tweed jacket, slicked back hair, poised smile—Chris had included that his interests lay in medieval Spanish architecture and that he enjoyed surfing in his spare time and eating fish tacos.

Pushed up by David against the hard metal of the dusty bleachers the next day, Tom had struggled faintly, claiming a headache. He couldn't get the smiling picture of Chris out of his head. Impatient, David had crashed their lips together, ignoring when Tom had squealed in protest, his hand roaming down his back to squeeze his ass.

"Stop!" Tom had gasped, tearing away. He pushed at David's chest and wiped his mouth. "You're hurting me."

David scoffed and adjusted his crotch, Tom's eyes falling, cheeks aflame. "Why are you so distracted today? I just want to make out, like we always do." He smirked. “But hey, I kinda like when you fight me a little.”           

Tom hadn't answered. He spun on his heel and marched toward his fourth period class. David had kept his distance until the following afternoon, when he met Tom outside the library after his shift, and they walked home together in silence, hand in hand. That was the first night he'd masturbated thinking about Chris.

Tom was pretty sure people knew he was gay. He didn't exactly try to hide how he felt about nail polish and lip gloss and fruit-flavored lollipops and the tight jeans he favored so much. The light pink and purple heart shaped sunglasses he'd found at a garage sale were his favorite ever but he only wore them in his back yard, still afraid of how people might react if he wore them on the bus for example, when he was blinded by the glare from the high rise buildings flashing past. Still, he and David were careful with their displays of affection and how often they were seen in public, which Tom was immensely grateful for, as he often needed a breather from the gropings and the sloppy kisses and the suffocation.

And yet, when he thought about Chris, he often considered what it would be like to be intimate with him. Tom had a nagging suspicion that to be overwhelmed by such a man wouldn't bother him in the least. David was a boy child compared to someone like Chris, who was all long lines and curved muscle. His blue eyes were fringed with dark lashes and his stubble rasped like sandpaper when he scratched at his face absentmindedly as he studied this or that line of text, Tom watching him through the shelves. Even though he was a year older than Tom, he was pretty sure David never had to shave. Tom barely needed to, his facial hair so soft and thin. Most of his body was still baby smooth. His chest was absent of hair, and there was only a thin trail leading down to the soft bundle of curls at his groin, pale, pale blond. Chris though...Chris would have thicker body hair. He just knew it. He'd already caught a peek of it under his coat sleeve, thick hairs at his wrist and behind his neck, making Tom's fingers itch with the need to touch.

As April turned into May, Chris started wearing his scarf and coat less often, appearing at the library in simple black or grey trousers, a button up shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbows exposing more of his collarbones and arms for Tom. He was more well-defined this way, the lines of his back moving fluidly under his shirt, Tom's mouth drying at how warm Chris looked, all that solid body with all its heat. But Tom couldn’t help but notice how tired Chris appeared lately, bruises under his eyes, always rubbing them, squinting with fatigue. Pushing his squeaky cart loaded with books through the aisles, Tom watched him hunched over at his table, typing furiously into his laptop, a pencil jammed behind his ear, papers in a scattered pile at his side. From what Tom had understood from snippets of Chris’s conversation with Mary, the head librarian, was that he taught a full workload of classes during the day and only had nights and weekends to work on his dissertation.

“I don’t go out. I haven’t the time. But I feel like I’m becoming some kind of recluse,” he’d said, laughing quietly, rubbing at his eyes again. “That’s why I find myself here. Just to feel part of the world again. Life on campus can feel so isolating.”

Tom had felt the great and desperate urge to lean on the arm of Chris’s chair and massage his shoulders, knead out that crick in his neck, place warm packets of tea on his eyes, like the way he’d seen his mother do after a long day working the window at the bank. But he’d only dropped his gaze and pushed his cart around the corner, the image of a tired-looking Chris seared into his retinas.

During the slower hours at the library, he organized the reservation requests that would come through from online users. Printing out the list, he would go aisle by aisle collecting books and movies and CD’s and articles and then alphabetize them in the last bookshelf where the people would come in and check out their reserved items. If the items were left for longer than seven days, he would re-shelve them in the main part of the library where they would be available for public circulation. It was with a stifled gasp of surprise one day that he discovered an online request from Chris. Jumping to his feet, Tom located the book on one of the highest bookcases. Standing on tiptoe, he reached and reached, his fingertips barely brushing the spine of the book. When he finally managed to grasp it, he pulled it down and clutched it to his chest, trying not to inhale the plume of dust that fell along with it. He needed to remember to wipe down the books on the very top shelves. Parking his lollipop between his back teeth, Tom hummed a quiet tune and printed out the reservation slip for Chris before adding it in with the other reserved items.

“Hemsworth,” he whispered, finding the spot on the shelf. His tongue bloomed with moisture as it curled around his lollipop sounding out the name. A shiver crept down his spine and he hurried back to the counter. Sure enough, Chris had come in that evening, bypassing Tom entirely and retrieving his book directly from the shelf. He used the self-check-out machine, and Tom watched him, saliva gathering in his mouth, lollipop perched just inside the bow of his lips. Chris typed in a long digit number, Tom realizing that he had his library card number actually memorized, and then scanned the barcode of the book. The automated machine next to the computer spit out a receipt and Chris left just as quickly as he’d arrived, Tom swiveling in his chair to watch him go, his hand lifted in a pathetic attempt to wave goodbye, ignored.

Face burning, he’d turned back to his computer screen and pretended to be hard at work.

School was almost over and summer vacation was around the corner. He wondered if Chris had a lighter work load than earlier in the year, because he was spending more and more time at the library, bent over the table that Tom was beginning to call his own, tucked into the corner by the newspaper display that no one ever paid much attention to. And yet he hadn’t been in today, and Tom wiped down the computer station with a disappointed scowl. He had hoped to see Chris at least once, just so that he could file away a new mental picture of him, what he was wearing, the wide and veiny grip on his books and laptop.

As Tom walked back around the counter after giving the five-minute warning, the sliding glass doors _wooshed_ open. He didn’t bother looking up from the computer. Radiohead’s “Creep” was playing from the headphones dangling from his neck.

“We’re closing in five.”

“I know. I’m so sorry.”

Tom froze. It was his voice. Chris’s voice. It had to be. No one in the entire world could have a voice like that. Tom turned slowly, face reddening.

“I realize the time,” Chris said, digging into his bag, a satchel that looked like something every professor in existence probably owned. “I hadn’t a moment today to check your catalog online, but I was wondering if you had this book?” He pulled out a slip of paper and scanned the page before lifting his eyes to meet Tom’s. They stared at each other for a long moment before Chris finally blinked and then glanced once around the library in a show of distraction. He handed Tom the paper. “Do you have it?”

Tom snapped out of his daze and snatched the paper, peering at the name, devastatingly aware of Chris waiting. He typed the title into their search engine and sat back in his seat, eyes on Chris. He smacked his gum and then blew a big bubble, letting it pop and sink back into his mouth.  He felt his heart flip ecstatically when Chris cleared his throat and looked away, smoothing down his tie.

“It’s available,” he said, as soon as the search results came back. “Follow me.”

Chris had a good three inches on him, and probably thirty or forty pounds. _The weight of him_ , Tom thought, unable to stop the shiver that crept down his spine. He smiled around the flavor of strawberry in his mouth as he led the way into one of the aisles. Just as he knew it would be, the book was on the highest shelf. He stretched on his tiptoes, knowing his shirt would rise up and expose a strip of skin at his hips and belly.

“I can get it—,” Chris started just as Tom gripped the book’s spine and brought it down. He felt his equilibrium dip as he rocked back on his heels and then a wide hand on his shoulder steadied him.

“Whoa,” Chris said. “You okay?”

Tom blushed and smiled, looking down. “I’m fine,” he whispered.

Chris snatched his hand back and Tom could feel the hot imprint of it under his shirt. Chris smiled tightly and took a step back, clasping both hands behind his back.

“I think I’ll just—I can take that…if you want to just…” He gently pried the book from Tom’s loose grip and nodded his thanks before turning on his heel and fleeing the aisle. Tom, still a little stunned by their interaction, tracked his progress through the shelves. He quickly checked the book out on his own and then left the library.

Sighing, Tom dragged himself back to the main counter and flicked off all the lights. It was as Mary was getting ready to lock the doors that he spotted the folded piece of paper by the dark monitor at his desk. He ran back and snatched it, calling out a good night before walking to the bus stop down the hill. In the light of a tall street lamp, he unfolded the paper and saw it was a blue-lined sheet, torn from a notebook. On it was scribbled all manner of notes: call mum on Saturday; architecture seminar Monday at noon; schedule appointment with eye doctor; and in the top right corner the name of the book Chris had needed.

Tom folded the paper into a neat square and zipped it into his backpack. He plugged his earphones in and listened to “Karma Police” the entire bus ride home.

**

Later that night, he collapsed back against the pillows with a quiet huff, frustrated tears burning his eyes. His fingers just weren’t thick enough, his own spit not lubricating him well enough, he just wasn’t _enough._ He desired the great bulk that was Chris, whose long and tapered fingers would fill him good, stretch him out for his thick cock to plug him. Tom’s mouth watered suddenly, wanting his lips wrapped around that cock. He shoved his fingers between his teeth and sucked, eyes rolling back in his head. His own erection, hard despite his useless efforts at fingering himself, stirred on his belly and he moaned around his fingers, taking himself in hand. Slipping his fingers free, he wrapped his arm around a pillow, bringing it to his chest, where he pretended it was a big body rutting against him. He whimpered and tugged at himself, imagining long blond hair fanning his face, the rasp of stubble burning his cheek, his chin with hard kisses, the deep rumble of the wide chest crushing him.

“Daddy,” he moaned and bit the pillow, his orgasm rushing over him, pulsing messily onto the towel he’d laid out. He lay boneless and spent, the pillow a shapeless bundle in his arms. It wasn’t Chris. And would probably never be Chris. Not if Tom didn’t come up with a way to get Chris to notice him.

After showering quickly, he sat at his desk and finished up the last of his math homework, a smack of gum bubbling on his tongue.

**

“Just… _let me_ ,” David breathed into Tom’s neck. Tom shifted, the sun blinding him through the bleachers’ seat spaces. He smiled when he remembered the small, muted cry of victory Chris had given the night before in his corner of the library, annotating something in his laptop. Tom had wondered what he’d discovered in the pages of the new book he’d checked out that had made him so ecstatic. He half hoped he could someday make Chris even as fractionally happy as he’d sounded.

“Let you what?” he said, pressing the flat of his palms against David’s shoulders. He angled his head away.

“You know…” David said, smiling. He followed Tom step by step. “Don’t you think it’s time we…?” He shrugged, letting the question hang in the air.

“Maybe soon, okay? I’m late for class. Gotta go.” He slipped away and hitched his backpack higher on his shoulders, David’s stare burning into the back of his neck.

**

Chris came into the library later than usual. He breezed in with his cell phone pressed to his ear, speaking quietly into the receiver. Tom sat up as soon as he saw him, but Chris headed to his corner without looking at anyone, and Tom eased back against the counter, trying hard not to pout. Still, he’d made sure to save his shelving duties for whenever Chris happened to walk in, and he jumped down from his stool to grab the cart of heavy books. Wheeling through the aisles, Tom took his time, losing sight of Chris every few minutes, hurrying through those aisles to spot him again. “Street Spirit (Fade Out)”played softly in the one ear bud he wore, and he hummed to himself, flashes of blond hair winking at him along the book spines.

Two hours later Tom was back behind the main counter handling the online reservation requests, a new lollipop perched between his teeth. He could only suck on these when he wasn’t at home, as his mother made a fuss about ruining his teeth. But Tom was astute about his hygiene, and always took great care with flossing and brushing every morning and night. He couldn’t help how much he loved the candy, and wished she would leave him alone about it. Sugar free gum sufficed when he couldn’t get his hands on something else.

A notice popped up on his screen and he clicked to add the new request to his list. But then his eyes widened when he saw the name. It was a request from Chris. He must have made it from his personal computer only a few minutes ago.

Tom checked their catalog and saw that their library branch didn’t carry the book he wanted. Smiling, he hopped off his chair and headed to the dim corner where Chris made his temporary home.

There he sat, writing a quick stream of words into a leather journal.

Tom, hands stuffed into his jeans, rolled onto his tiptoes so that his hipbones showed, lollipop stem between his lips. He stopped a few feet away.

“Hey,” he said, smiling.

Chris blinked and looked up, eyes still slightly unfocused. “Yes?”

Tom pulled the candy from his mouth, noting how Chris followed the movement. “That reservation you just sent in? We don’t have the book here. I’ll have to request it from another branch. It’ll be a day or two before it gets here.”

“Oh,” Chris said, sitting back and rubbing his eyes. “Okay. Sure, I think that’ll be alright.”

Tom smiled and took a step closer, leaning his arms on the free chair at Chris’s table. “What are you working on?”

Chris groaned and rubbed his whole face, sighing. “That’s a loaded question I don’t know how to answer.” He laughed quietly and Tom joined in, dropping his eyes.

“It’s okay. I’ll let you know when the book comes in.” He took a few steps backwards and then turned away, ready to head back to the front of the library.

“How did you know it was me?”

He stopped and turned around. “Hmm?”

"The reservation. How did you know it was mine?”

Tom stared at him, lollipop dangling in loose fingers. He shrugged. “I just…notice you around here a lot.” Stick between his teeth again, he smiled and left the aisle quietly.

The book arrived the following afternoon, far sooner than Tom had expected. He sat at the front desk with it, hesitating before entering it into the system, which would prompt an email to Chris alerting him to the arrival of his reservation. Next to his cup of pens and highlighters was a stationary pad, a cartoon green worm rooting itself with a friendly smile into the core of a red apple. Before he lost his nerve, he took a pen and wrote something onto the top sheet, folded it in half and slipped it between the pages of the book, making sure the top edge of the note was visible. He then took the book to the reservation shelf and filed it alphabetically under the letter ‘H’.

**

Chris stifled a yawn and gathered his bag from the passenger seat, coffee mug in hand. The library closed at nine today so he had a few hours to get another portion of his draft written. He’d received an email from the library that his book was ready to be picked up, so he let his final class out a few minutes early and drove over right away. It was Friday, which meant the library might be either packed with people or nearly empty. It tended to vary. He was hoping for nearly empty. He liked his corner table and couldn’t stifle his disappointment whenever he found it occupied. Walking in through the sliding doors showed just how busy the library was and he gritted his teeth in annoyance. Still, he passed by the front desk, sipping his coffee, aiming to at least collect his reserved book. On his way out, he headed around the geography section just to make sure. Surprisingly, it turned out his favorite table was empty, a small white paper tented in the middle.

Written in a quickly scrawled fashion was one word. _Reserved._

Chris picked up the placeholder and set his things down. He flipped the paper over, but the back was blank. He looked around, wondering at this kind gesture. Maybe it had been Mary, the head librarian. He’d had some lovely conversations with her about his academic research, and perhaps she’d noticed he preferred this table. He caught movement in the corner of his eye and snapped his head around, catching sight of blond curls and thin shoulders before the person moved further away. Shrugging, Chris let the paper fall to the table and sat down, pulling out his laptop and journal. He worked steadily for a full hour before finding a spot in his research that needed citation. His new book would help with that. Rolling his sleeves up, he took a moment to rest his eyes, fingers pressed hard against them. By the time he blinked around again, white spots danced in his vision and he realized he needed to sleep more. Grateful that his requested book had arrived a day sooner than he’d anticipated, Chris dug it out from under the stack of his other texts. The edge of the book was lit by the glare of the lamp at his table, and he caught the sharp edge of a misplaced page near the top. Pulling the book close, he tried to angle the page back in but discovered it to be a separate piece of paper. Freeing it, he saw that it was some kind of note. Written inside in the same red ink and quick scrawl as the ‘Reserved’ paper at his table, were the words: _Last night, I dreamed about kissing you._

Chris sat stunned, the words blurring. Who could have written this? And was it directed at him? Or was it a remnant of the person who had checked the book out last? Who would leave notes like this in a dusty medieval architecture text? Had it been meant as a rudimentary bookmark? Placed in haste and then forgotten? But the handwriting and the color of the ink were the same as the little sign on his table. It couldn’t have been coincidence. It suddenly dawned on him why the head of blond curls he’d spied earlier had seemed familiar to him. He’d seen them before and in this very library. Getting to his feet, Chris left his things behind at the table, note still clutched in his hand. Peeking around the corner of the last bookshelf he stared at the front desk, at the boy who was scanning books for an elderly woman, smiling and laughing with her about something. A lollipop was perched on the back of a pamphlet, a place safe for it until he could resume sucking again. The boy’s mouth had been tinted red the day before. Now, it was bordering on a dark, bruised color. Purple. The candy was most likely grape or something, Chris wasn’t sure. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d tasted a lollipop, the candy he vaguely remembered from his youth, so sweet and sticky and bursting with flavor on his tongue.

And then the boy’s blue eyes flashed to his, catching him at the corner of the bookcase, peeping like some kind of creep. Chris gasped and jumped away, leaning against the edge of the shelf, out of sight. His heart pounded in his throat and he looked down at the note again, swallowing hard. The boy had left the reservation card on his table; had been the one lurking close by as Chris discovered it. And he had to have been the one to leave this small note in the book Chris had reserved.

Surprising him to no end, it seemed the boy had a bit of a crush on him.

Taking a chance, he leaned back around corner, and there at the counter leaned the boy, one arm tucked against his thin chest, the other supporting his chin. The lollipop was back in his mouth, and he smiled at Chris around it. Chris’s mouth went dry.

He returned to his table and sat for a solid minute staring at nothing. All thoughts of his dissertation fled his mind, all the notes and citations and contextual analysis and word count simply vanished, leaving in their place confessions tilted in red and soft looking curls and candy-coated tinted lips.

Chris jumped to attention and began gathering his things, sticking the reservation card and note in the front of his journal at the last minute. Scoping the front of the library, he found the boy missing and took his chance, weaving through the other tables and out the door.

**

Helping an older gentleman log into one of the computers, Tom had frozen at the sight of Chris practically running through the room and out the exit. Heart pounding, he wondered if Chris had seen his note, if that was why he had left so quickly. And so soon. The library wouldn’t close for another two hours. Chris usually stayed until the very last minute. The old man tapped his shoulder and Tom remembered where he was and what he was doing. Apologizing quietly, he finished his task and went back to his desk. Maybe Chris hadn’t seen the note at all and an emergency had called him away. Maybe—Tom really hoped this wasn’t the case—he had a date and was going home to get ready. It was Friday night after all.

Feeling gloomy, he checked his cell phone. There were four text messages from David.

<I miss you>

<Let’s hang out tonight>

<I was thinking we could see a movie?>

<Tom. Call me back k>

Tom yawned and then typed a response.

<A movie? Which one?>

They decided on the action film that had been out for over a month now. Tom knew David had picked it only because there would hardly be anyone in the theater and he could make out with Tom without an audience. Tom felt blasé about the whole thing. Seeing Chris walk out in such a hurry had left him in a fidgety mood.

He took the bus to the local cinema, where David was waiting for him on the rails leading to the main entrance. He swung an arm around Tom’s shoulders and guided him inside. He handed their tickets to the girl at the front and they fell into line at the concession stand.

“I want gummy bears,” Tom half-pouted, crossing his arms and peering at the crowd around them. At least he would have something to chew on during what was probably going to be a dull movie. They took their snacks and drinks into the auditorium to find seats. David led him to the row in the middle, no one behind them and only a few people sprinkled in the seats below. The lights dimmed and Tom tore open his box of gummy bears, eyeing the hand David placed on his knee. At least in the dark he might be able to imagine it was someone else touching him.

**

Ever since arriving home from the library, his small house felt even smaller to Chris, stifling, the ceiling seeming to loom down over him. He tried running on his treadmill, but his rampant thoughts galloped even faster than his legs. After showering, he considered seeing what was on the three channels he got on basic cable, but decided it wouldn’t be enough. He couldn’t focus on his paper any longer, half believing it was his fledgling insomnia that webbed holes of fatigue and distraction over his mind. And it was partially to blame, yes, because he really wasn’t sleeping as much as he should, but Chris knew that he was unnerved by the boy’s note in his book, by the attention the boy obviously paid him, reserving his favorite table so that Chris could work in peace, smiling so shyly at him during the rare times they’d spoken. The red berry tint to his lips and tongue from that damn lollipop. How would his mouth taste, Chris paused to wonder. Like crushed sugar and fruit crystals? Sticky and warm and wet and—

“Fuck.” He climbed to his feet and grabbed his keys from the hook by the door, thinking a movie might do the trick of distracting him enough to let his mind rest for a while. He bought a ticket for whichever movie was showing right away. The auditorium was dark and hushed, the opening credits only just beginning to roll. He headed to the seats at the top of the sloped theater and into an aisle occupied by only two other people farther down the row. Sinking into the plush cushion, he relaxed back, the seat rest rocking under his weight. The plot was mindless and perfect, the actors good enough to absorb his attention, beginning to care for the characters, anticipate the next scene, knowing how it would end but wondering how the director would get there.

It wasn’t until near the middle of the film that he grew aware of movement to his left and he cast a quick glance at the couple sitting in the same aisle. The blood in his veins froze when he realized who it was. The head of blond curls was tucked into the shoulder of another boy, who leaned across their seats and seemed to be sucking a bruise on the library boy’s neck. It had to be him. Chris swallowed, watching them kiss, the boy’s face hidden in shadow still. Those hands, fingers so much longer and thinner without being curled around his beloved lollipop, were tugging on the other boy’s shirt, the heel of his palms pressing into his ribs, almost as if trying to get him to lift off, to force the other boy away. But then the boy’s face popped up, attached to that head of blond curls, sighing in what sounded like complete boredom.

Chris couldn’t turn away, not even when the boy’s eyes flashed to him, widening with recognition. They shone in the dark, staring at Chris, the other boy oblivious to their heated gaze. And just as he’d tried to get the boy to move away, his fingers suddenly curled into his shirt, squeezing him closer. The other boy, encouraged, crowded over him even more, and Chris’s hands clenched on his armrests to see the blond curly haired boy nearly dwarfed by the other.

But still those eyes glowed in the light from the giant screen before them. How slowly the boy blinked, giving no doubt that he knew Chris was watching, seemed to be enjoying it actually. And then he remembered the note he’d left Chris, about having dreamt about kissing him. Was he imagining that Chris was the one sucking at his neck? Is that why he suddenly pulled the other boy closer, when before it had been more than obvious he didn’t want to make out? Was he trying to make Chris jealous? If he was, Chris realized with a disturbing pang of something red in his chest, it was working.

Chris swallowed hard and forced himself to turn away, feeling like a Class A Pervert. The boys eventually separated, but Chris couldn’t help but notice how the other boy, the one he didn’t know, kept the boy he _did_ know under the long reach of his scrawny arm, both settling back to finish the movie. It couldn’t end fast enough, his interest in the people and the story vanishing as quickly as his ability to write more of his dissertation had earlier that day. But when the lights turned on and everyone stood to leave, Chris sat glued to his seat, heart beating loudly, pulse pounding at his throat. The boys started walking down the aisle toward him, and he still couldn’t move, lifting his eyes to meet the approaching boys.

“Excuse us, man,” the other boy said, walking past Chris first, tugging the library boy by the wrist. Their eyes met again and it was like an electric shock to his heart, seeing him up close, the red mark blooming on his neck, the bitten lips tinted red still. Was it from harder, rougher kisses before the movie, or from another lollipop? Chris fiercely hoped it was the latter. As he slid by Chris, the boy let their knuckles bump together, fingers trailing daringly over the raised ridges of Chris’s veins, his touch cool and gentle—the loveliest thing Chris could remember feeling in a very long time. His companion saw nothing.

And then he was gone, stepping into the aisle and following the other boy down the stairs.

Chris’s breath rushed out of him, chest tight with anxiety. It was with great trepidation that he felt his groin stiffen uncomfortably, and he knew he needed to get home quickly before he embarrassed himself. The skin on his hand tickled but he didn’t dare scratch it, wanting to remember the feel of the boy’s touch. When he could linger no longer, the ushers moving closer to his row as they swept up stray popcorn and collected empty cups, he stood and made his way down the stairs and outside, finding his car and climbing in. The drive home felt eternal, Chris wanting only to be rid of his clothing and his stress and just lie in bed stroking himself. As much as it shamed him to admit it, the boy’s blossoming attention on him made him feel special, noticed, a warmth beginning to crest out from under his ribs and filling his extremities.

Falling into bed was the first thing he did once home, clothes torn off, skin feeling much too tight and sensitive. The boy's sticky sweet smile haunted him as he rubbed himself off, crashing toward his release, crying out brokenly into the stuffy silence of his bedroom. He lay breathing hard, wishing desperately, more than anything, to know the boy's name. At least then he would know what to prevent from spilling between his lips the next time the boy's visage woke him from sleep.

**

Tom had weekends off from the library, so he spent two days lying listlessly in his room, avoiding David's calls. After their make out session at the movies, David was determined to be more hands on with Tom, stroking the small hickey that had formed in the crook of Tom’s neck, gripping his hips a little more possessively. Tom always managed to slip out from under him with some excuse or other, but his main reason was that Chris’s face always popped into his head whenever he and David got more physical. And it was starting to make him feel gross making out with one boy while thinking of another. It wasn’t right, but he was still confused and hesitant about what to feel for the professor and David, exclusively.

He both dreaded and craved his next encounter with Chris. He hadn't expected to see him at the movie theater, hadn’t even seen him walk in, much less sit in their very row. They’d both been surprised to see the other, but he still remembered with relish what it had felt like to be caught under that heavy gaze. After shifting yet again under David, trying to ignore the stab of pain whenever he used his inexperienced and clumsy teeth, Tom twisted his neck, seeking air. And that's when he saw him, Chris watching him being practically consumed by David, who hunched over him completely unaware of Chris and his staring contest with Tom. And he didn't know what it was about Chris watching, maybe the feeling that if Tom let his eyes drift shut just the tiniest fraction, he could convince himself it was Chris leaning over him, Chris's lips on his skin, his hot moist breath fanning over his throat. His fingers had clenched almost involuntarily on David's back and David had moaned, mistakenly believing Tom wanted him closer, when the entire time it had been the man at the end of the row he'd wanted, whose eyes burned a hole into Tom.

Chris had to have seen the note. There was no way someone could stare so openly, so wantonly at someone without first knowing something about them, be it simple recognition, or something darker and more perverted even. Had Chris not been interested in him, then he would have turned immediately away, like any other person bothered by other people's displays of affection. But he'd watched them, watched Tom, and when Tom had dared feel his hand after the movie, Chris had let him. He hadn't drawn away, hadn't politely dropped his gaze, hadn't moved at all.

Could it possibly mean that Chris really was interested in him too? That the note was the beginning of something that Tom could see becoming a relationship with the professor, however illicit?

He wasn't sure, and he didn't wish to jinx anything with his fantasies, but it gave him a twinge of hope in his belly, like a wick being set aflame, that he might have caught the older man's eye after all.

Classes on Monday dragged on longer than usual. Tom was itching to hop on the bus and head to the library. He would see Chris that day, and it was enough to make him sit up taller in his chair and take better notes on his teacher’s lecture.

There were only a handful of people at the library, so Tom wrote out a new card to hold Chris's table. He dusted the shelves and recycled the old newspaper and magazine editions, refilled the hand sanitizer containers, spied in on that evening's scarf-making crafts session, and finally sat at the counter, available to anyone who might need any help. Six, seven, eight o'clock came and went and still Chris hadn't arrived. Tom chewed on the ball of gum in his mouth, knee bouncing in worry. What was keeping him? He should have been here hours ago. It was with a heavy and slightly angry heart that Tom left the library once it closed for the night, slouching on the bus stop bench, earphones plugged in. The songs played on a mixed shuffle. Finally "Creep" came on and Tom hesitated on the skip button. He let it play and whispered along with the singer’s voice: _You float like a feather/in a beautiful world/you're so fucking special/I wish I was special/But I'm a creep._

He couldn't know how Chris felt until he saw him. Until then it wouldn't do to make himself worry. Maybe something came up. Something that forced Chris to skip his nightly visit to the library.

Yeah, Tom thought as he boarded the bus, squeezing in next to a woman reading from a tablet.

Maybe.

**

Three days passed and Chris still hadn't shown up at the library. Tom was near tears by Thursday night, wondering if Chris had abandoned the library altogether, spooked away by Tom and his brash and clumsy attempts at flirting. Where would he continue writing his paper? At home? He'd obviously didn't like writing there if he always ended up at the public library anyway. At the university library? Tom had never been inside, so he wasn't sure about why anyone would or wouldn't want to spend hours there. Maybe they had all the books and resources Chris needed. But why would he come to this library if what he required could be found at another? Itching to have something in his mouth, he pulled out his pack of gum and discovered it empty. He tossed it away with a huff, licking his lips nervously. Focusing on the online reservation requests, Tom hummed quietly to himself and printed out his list.

The cart wheeled noiselessly before him. He scratched off each item he collected and then stopped with a gasp. The next in line was an article requested by Chris. It had come in that same morning, the very hour Tom was slipping into his English class to avoid David.

Grinning now, Tom abandoned the cart and went to the periodicals section. The magazine Chris wanted was between two others. He pulled it free and thumbed through its pages, the tall towers and spires of ancient looking churches and monasteries flipping before his eyes. Laying the magazine on the top pile of books, he finished his rounds and then returned to his desk to send out the notifications. There was still an hour left before the library closed; perhaps Chris would stop by tonight for the article. He hesitated before filing his item away with all the others. Should he leave another note? Should he risk it?

Ten minutes passed and he bit at his thumbnail, still undecided. Cursing quietly, he scribbled out a quick message and stuck it into the magazine before running back to the safety of his desk.

**

Chris stared at the library entrance. From where he parked, he could see the front desk. The boy with the blond curls sat before his computer monitor, swiveling in slow circles in his chair. Sans lollipop, Chris mused. Still, the boy bit at his thumbnail distractedly. Restless, Chris dug a stick of gum from his jacket pocket and popped it into his mouth. When Mary called the boy away from the desk, Chris made his move. He breezed into the library through the sliding glass doors and turned directly towards the reservation shelf. There was the magazine he asked for. But he paused, because peeking out from its pages was what looked like another note. The paper looked familiar, and Chris was sure the handwriting would be similar, too. He looked left and right to make sure he was alone. Unfolding the note between the spread pages of the magazine, he read: _Your hands…I want to feel them on me. Do you want to touch me too?_

Chris’s pulse spiked and he quickly folded the note, pocketing it in his trousers. Sweat sprouted on his forehead and he dabbed at it quickly with his sleeve, gripping the magazine and leaving the aisle. The boy was back behind the front desk, bent over a school textbook. How old was he, exactly?

Normally, Chris would use the self-check-out machine, but not tonight.

The boy didn’t look up when Chris stepped up to the counter.

He cleared his throat. “Hello.”

The boy did a quick double take, face blooming with color.

“Hi,” he said quietly.

Chris slid the magazine across the counter. “Can I check this out, please?”

The boy closed his textbook and sat up. “Of course.” His eyes kept jumping up to Chris’s face, two spots of color still high on his cheeks. Taking the magazine and flipping it over to scan, the boy’s eyes flickered over the edge of the pages where, until a few moments ago, the note had been tucked. His eyes widened a fraction and he ducked his head, scanning the barcode of the library card Chris handed him.

“Chris,” he said, staring at his picture. “You’re better looking in person.”

Chris couldn’t help but laugh. _There_ was a glimpse of the boy who licked the lollipops with such ease. “Yeah, well. I was a few years younger then. With fewer undergrad papers to read and grade. I probably have to renew it soon, don’t you think?”

“It expires at the end of the year. You have a bit of time yet. We can use the old picture or…I could take a new one.”

It was the deeper register of his voice that made Chris pause. A smile was reaching up into the boy’s eyes, making them dip at the corners, the blue sparkling behind those long pale lashes. Chris had to remind himself to breathe.

“What’s your name?” he finally asked. They spoke in whispers, every other person occupied at the computers or tables farther in the room. Chris felt safer somehow, knowing this.

“Tom,” the boy said, printing out a receipt.

Tom, Chris thought, wanting his lips to curl around the word. It suited him. Tom’s eyes dropped to Chris’s mouth.

“Do you have any more gum?”

Chris had nearly forgotten about the gum he was chewing, the small bundle bursting to life in his mouth again. He patted his jacket pocket. “Yeah, I think I do.” The aluminum foil winked at him as he passed the stick to Tom, whose long fingers slid over his own to take it. It was so reminiscent to their moment in the theater, when Tom had dared reach out to touch him in front of his friend—or boyfriend, or whatever.

“Thanks,” he said, grinning hard. “You’re a life saver.” His eyes crinkled, folding the gum in half and crunching it between his teeth. Chris could have sworn he moaned quietly. “Here you go,” the boy said, handing him his magazine and receipt. The thumb Tom had been biting only moments before Chris walked in brushed his gently. With nothing else keeping him there, Chris smiled and nodded, thanking Tom quietly. The night air was still beginning to cool down. Grateful, Chris rolled down the windows as he drove away, feeling as if he hadn’t taken a single breath since finding that second note.

**

The next day, Tom sang softly in the back room of the library, a wad of sugar free bubblegum sitting comfortably in his cheek. He was sorting through the bin of returned items when he saw it. The magazine he had checked out for Chris the day before. A yellow piece of paper stuck out from the middle of it, and Tom snatched it up from the bottom of the bin, dropping everything else in his haste. The note was short, just one word, but he read it over and over, not quite believing his eyes.

His heart swelled in his throat as tears of happiness blurred the word, the lines swimming before him. He ran his thumb over it still, just to make sure that the word was there, that it existed, that Chris had actually answered his hasty and probably really stupid question.

_Yes._

Signed under it was the letter ‘ _C_ ’.

**

The keyboard clacked quietly in the corner, empty and isolated from the rest of the library. His table had been reserved again and Chris thought that was a good sign, even if it filled his stomach with guilt. Tom had to be a teenager, probably eighteen or so, but still so young. Too young for him. Chris was turning thirty-four at the end of the summer, having been in high school already by the time the kid was born. But he couldn’t deny how beautiful the boy was, how innocent and soft he looked. His limbs were so long and gangly. He was probably super flexible and pliant, all gasps and blushes—.

“No,” he said aloud, pushing away from the table and rising to his feet. He paced in a small circle, rubbing his tired, blurry eyes. He didn’t know where these thoughts had come from. Yes, he’d liked men well enough for most of his adult life. He’d dated both men and women here and there, but hadn’t been in a steady relationship for the three years he’d been a professor at the university. He was too busy, too focused on his work, on his students, on getting his doctorate and publishing articles and maintaining his tenure-track. He’d never been so attracted to someone so young before.

And this boy, this…this teenager suddenly had Chris fantasizing about sweet and sticky kisses in the dark, what his painted fingernails would look like clutching at Chris’s back, the small noises he no doubt made when spinning in his climax.

Chris ran a hand through his hair, cursing quietly. It was probably nothing. The boy had a tiny crush. And Chris was tired and frustrated and felt worn thin from all his work and research. The boy’s crush would pass, he would forget about Chris and they would move on and Chris would finish his paper and defend this dissertation and really, he should have stopped coming to the public library after the first note. The library on campus had more than enough resources to aid him in his dissertation, but Chris felt he was either always on campus or at home. He liked this library. He liked this dark corner. He liked the tall bookcases and the shaded lamps and the wooden tables and the boy at the front counter.

He liked the boy a lot. It was about time he admitted that to himself.

“Did you need something?”

Chris jumped and spun around.

Tom stood there, not even a foot away. Wearing dark blue jeans and a light blue shirt, pink lollipop dangling from his fingers, the boy must have snuck up on him. Brows risen high in question, he stared at Chris. And before Chris even knew what he was doing, he stepped toward the boy and grasped him by the back of the neck, crashing their mouths together. His other hand gripping the side of Tom’s head, Chris felt the boy stiffen, felt his small cry of surprise, muted by their kiss. It wasn’t until the boy softened against him, hands curling into his jacket that Chris, completely mortified, tore himself away.

His hold on Chris jostled, Tom stumbled in place, falling back on a bookshelf. He panted, staring at Chris, cheeks flushed red. Panicked, Chris cast a look around but thankfully, saw no one.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped, hand on his chest, where his heart beat rapidly. “I—I didn’t mean…I’m so sorry. I…oh, god.” He buried his face in his hands and took a shuddering breath. Tom’s lollipop lay on the carpet by their feet, dropped and forgotten.

A soft touch on his wrist had him jumping again, and he pulled away, eyes wide. Tom stood before him, mouth parted, face collapsed in awe.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, surrounded by the hushed and dim stacks of books. “I really want you to.”

Miserable, Chris shook his head. “We can’t. I shouldn’t have done that. It wasn’t right.” He took another step back, and Tom’s hand shot out, fingers wrapping around his wrist.

Chris backed up to the hard bookshelf, Tom following him step by step until they were practically pressed together again. Chris was afraid to touch him, afraid to commit so grave a sin again. He couldn’t. He _couldn_ _’_ _t._

“Why? Why isn’t it right?” The boy’s voice was so small, so quiet, his eyes so big and blue. Chris tried not to breathe.

“Because you’re so young. And I’m not. And-and it’s just not right.”

“But…we want to. That’s all that matters.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, hoping the boy would be gone when he opened them, Chris side stepped away from him, until he finally freed himself from between the bookshelf and Tom, those long fingers slipping from his wrist.

“I have to go.” He began to cram his things into his bag, laptop, textbooks, pencils, everything. Tom followed him.

“You don’t have to go. Please don’t go.” He seemed agitated, hands opening and closing almost helplessly.

“I do. I’m sorry.”

Hands cupped his face, cool and smooth, trying to get him to look up. “Stop. Chris, stop.” Chris shouldn’t have, but he did. He looked up, and Tom leaned in for another kiss. It was softer this time, less hurried, chaste and simple, but again Chris tasted the bubblegum sweetness of the pink lollipop he’d been sucking on before. Tom moaned so softly, Chris almost didn’t hear it. But he felt it, the small vibrations spreading over their lips.

 

_Fuck it._

He straightened and gathered Tom in his arms, hugging him close, light as a feather. The boy was so thin, fitting perfectly in the wide grip of his embrace. Chris was positive that if he trailed a finger down the length of the boy’s back, he would feel every bump of his spine, and it made a wave of possessiveness crash over him, wanting to be so careful with him.

Arms rose around his neck and the kiss deepened, Chris bending Tom into his body, bumping against the table’s edge. It was the lamp rocking on its base that brought Chris round, and then the glaring realization that they were in a very public place and someone could easily walk into their tiny corner of illicit intentions. He was surprised someone hadn’t already.

He drew back, Tom blinking up at him a bit dazedly.

“I have to go,” he said again, gentler than before. Tom, fingers sliding through the hair at the nape of his neck, nodded. Lips red and slightly swollen, a lovely flush was creeping up the boy’s throat, suffusing over his high cheekbones.

Chris left him go, reluctantly. He stood back as Chris gathered the rest of his things.

“You kept them,” he heard, and Chris turned. Tom was holding Chris’s journal, open to the front page where he’d been safekeeping Tom’s notes.

“I did,” he said, taking the journal and putting it away. “I shouldn’t have.”

Tom bent to pick up his fallen lollipop, Chris eyeing the long line of his legs.

“I think…” the boy started, studying the candy. “I think maybe you should stop saying things like no and can’t and shouldn’t and don’t. And maybe you should just do, especially when you know I want to…too.” He looked up at Chris. “I kept your note, also.”

Hands still shaking, Chris held still, watching the boy, who smiled and touched the tips of his fingers to his mouth, humming happily. And then he turned around and left, disappearing behind a bookcase.

Mind buzzing with worry and fatigue and the incessant drum of a headache, Chris nearly collapsed onto the chair for just a moment’s respite, just one single moment to close his eyes and breathe and be still and not _think._

But he slung his bag onto his shoulder and stole out of the library, head down, not checking to see if Tom was even at the front desk. Shame burned on his face with every step he took, even as he licked his lips, remembering the sweet and sticky taste of Tom. Still, he visibly flinched when a small voice bade him goodnight just before he walked out the door.

**

Mouth stuffed with fingers, Tom pressed his face into the pillow to stifle his scream. His knees ached from rocking on them, but he couldn’t help the urgency that lit his blood on fire. After his kiss— _kisses_ —with Chris at the library, Tom had been a walking bundle of arousal. It had taken some serious book organizing to keep in control of his body’s desires. Still, he’d felt his cock had been ready to fill at a moment’s notice, and after finding his mom watching soaps in the living room, claimed he had a headache and sought refuge in his room. On his knees, head down, he’d imagined Chris was the one playing with his hole, teasing him with his tongue. Tom watched enough porn to know what a man could do to another man with his tongue, the way Chris would prep him for his cock. And how he _wanted_ it. Sucking on his fingers, Tom tugged on himself, rising and rising until finally cresting over the edge of some great precipice and right into the pool of his orgasm, where he floated in a daze, flopping onto his side with a weary groan.

“Daddy,” he murmured, sucking on his fingertips. He wanted more than anything to be Chris’s, to be his good little boy, to be the person Chris turned to for everything. For love, for support, for comfort, when he was angry or hurt or tired. And Chris looked so tired lately. He didn’t want him to suffer. He wanted his daddy to be safe and healthy and completely his own.

The first kiss had caught him by surprise. He’d really only been seeking an excuse to talk to Chris again, to feel out what he might be thinking of Tom after their run-in at the movie theater, and again after their small talk over the magazine. The one word response Chris had written him had encouraged Tom to approach him, having a small clue as to how Chris thought of him, knowing the library was particularly empty that night. Mary was cataloguing new book arrivals in the back room, the self-defense class was in full-swing, and only two people were seated at the computer terminal. Tom saw his chance, and he took it. And by god, he wasn’t disappointed. He’d frozen when Chris spun on him and grabbed him up in his arms. It was shock that had made his spine hard and straight, shock that had kept his eyes open wide, shock that had made his lollipop slip from his fingers.

But it was absolute _relief_ that made him melt against that big body, soften into their kiss, take hold of his jacket. Because he finally had some kind of reciprocation to his feelings, knowing now that Chris wasn’t purposefully cold toward him, just another adult ignoring another teenager. Chris wanted him, Tom knew it. But he was afraid of that want, as Tom surmised based on Chris’s reaction to their first kiss. He was scared to get in trouble, and Tom understood that. But they could be careful. They could be quiet. It was only a matter of convincing Chris; Chris, who appeared to be on the verge of breaking, of accepting their feelings, of giving in.

Tom smiled. They would be good for each other. He just knew it.

**

All throughout his lectures the next day, Chris battled with himself. He knew he shouldn’t return to the library. He could finish his dissertation elsewhere. But it was the only place he could see Tom. Aside from his great physical attraction to him, the boy was sweet and lovely with his dimpled cheeks and curly hair that Chris wanted to caress and stroke, to twine between his fingers and _pull_.

Scratching out comments on the essays spread before him at his desk, his students bent over their work, Chris frowned. He wasn’t that old, was he? Thirty-four in August, it wasn’t that bad, was it? He should have asked Tom’s age. But it wouldn’t matter. He was obviously more than a decade younger than Chris and that’s all he needed to know.

But still.

Their kiss had been electric, propelling Chris into a murky post-orgasmic haze once back home. The way Tom had swooned against him, their hips butting, hands grabbing at each other.

Chris rubbed his temples, devastated. They had been at the fucking library! What had he been thinking?

That the boy was beautiful and willing. And maybe not that young, when he really thought about it.

He let his students leave early again and they filed out with quiet cheers and grateful smiles in his direction, no doubt as drained as he felt. All he wanted was to go home and sleep for ten hours, a long and lean body snuggled tight in his arms. But he had outlined the next section of his paper and thought he should really get a head start on it before the weekend. And so with butterflies in his stomach, he drove to the public library.

Tom was behind the desk, and he waved at Chris with a shy smile. Chris nodded at him, trying to quell the heat he felt rising over his face.

Unsurprisingly, his table was reserved again.

He picked up the paper and flipped it over, curious when he found another note written on the back. It was longer than the others, the ink and lilting handwriting the same as before.

_Things you should know about me:_

  1. _I’m 16_
  2. _…going on 28_
  3. _I love lollipops and gum and gummy bears and anything I can roll around on my tongue to keep busy_
  4. _I once broke my wrist falling off a carousel and it aches whenever it rains. I was 7._
  5. _I love to read. Just this year I've read 32 books._
  6. _I think you're gorgeous and I really like you_
  7. _Really really like you_
  8. _And I think you like me too_
  9. _Can we try this?_
  10. _I want to know everything about you_



Chris found himself smiling, having sank into his seat without noticing.

So he was sixteen. Younger than he originally thought. But Chris couldn't deny the skip in his heart that he hadn't felt in a long time, and a teenager of all people was responsible for it.

"Everything okay?"

Tom passed by his table pushing a rolling cart laden with books. He was smiling to himself, side-eyeing Chris. He began stacking books on the shelf, blowing a gum bubble.

Chris cleared his throat and put the note away. "Yeah. Everything's good. Just settling in."

"There isn't anything I can get you? Anything you might…need?"

Chris smoothed down his tie, shuffling papers in front of him. The boy was a cool flirt, masking his interest with something as simple as doing his job. Chris found it immensely endearing.

"Nope. I have everything I need here. But thanks."

Tom shrugged easily and finished his shelving. On his way again, he paused by the table and let his hand trail over the back of Chris's neck.

"Let me know if you need anything, ‘kay?"    

And then he was gone, Chris feeling as if the temperature had risen by twenty degrees.

It continued like that, for days at a time. Chris bent over his work, Tom appearing at random times in the evening, personally bringing him his online requests, more notes slipped inside.

_I loved the taste of you._

_Do you think of me when you_ _’re alone? I think of you._

_If you like me back then blink your eyes._

And Chris, the sap that he was, actually did blink, only to hear the sound of muted laughter from around the corner of a bookshelf, where Tom clutched his belly, eyes squinted. He forgot how carefree and beautifully silly a person could be at that age.

Other times, so absorbed in his work, Chris wouldn’t realize the boy was there until he was touching him. A hand on his back, or fingers gliding over his wrist, or even once cupping Chris’s chin and angling his face up. Startled, Chris sat frozen as Tom leaned down and placed a kiss on his cheek before moving away, burdened with books and magazines.

Chris felt like he was beginning to fray at the edges, wanting to touch the boy so badly, feeling restricted by the possibility of others seeing them and his own thin and tattered resolve. It was disastrous then that he thought to bring Tom tiny gifts every evening. He couldn't have expected the sheer joy and happy surprise on Tom's face would mean so much to him. Twice he brought him lollipops, another time a pack of gum, and another time a snack-sized bag of gummy bears. The boy nearly squealed at the sight of two large blow pops, fruit-flavored lollipops the core of which were entirely sweetened gum. He snatched them off the counter where Chris placed them on his way to his table, tossing him the widest, prettiest smile Chris had ever seen. Spying him later on, cheeks hollowed around the candy, intent on reaching the desired center, he wondered if the boy was addicted to sugar or simply had an oral fixation, needing something, anything, to keep his mouth occupied. That line of thought proved dangerous, so he steered clear of it, doubling his concentration on annexes and towers and cloisters and the religion of medieval symmetry and symbolism.

**

Tom was a glowing, grinning bundle of nerves the next two weeks. Each time Chris came into the library, Tom became braver with his touches, speaking with him more, writing more notes to him. And the way Chris blushed and sputtered and tried valiantly to distance himself was adorable, but he always came back, sometimes with gifts. Tom had the suspicion that Chris was onto his small mouth obsession, but it didn’t make him want to stop in the least. He didn’t know if he could even if he wanted to. If anything, it was cute that he had noticed, giving Tom a bit of relief on the matter.

The tension seemed to escalate between the two—the touches, the looks, the notes, Chris’s continued exhaustion and frustration—until one evening Tom saw Chris rise from his table and walk into one of the back aisles. Tom peeked into the staff office and saw Mary bent over one of their newest acquisitions, an older set of encyclopedias donated by a long standing patron in the community. She would be busy for a while.

He left his post at the front desk and walked through the main room, empty for now as most of the visitors were in the events room, where a book club met the third Thursday of every month.

Entering the aisle he saw Chris squinting up at the spines of the books, looking for something. He had his back turned, and Tom stepped lightly, wanting to surprise him.

He circled Chris's waist with his arms, smiling into the broad space between his shoulders.

He felt Chris jump, the paper he’d been holding twirling to the floor.

"Jesus," he whispered, sagging back against Tom when he realized who it was. "You can't sneak up on me like that. I'm an old man, my heart could fail."

Tom giggled, and then gasped when Chris spun around to face him. He took Tom's arms.

"What are you doing...sneaking around...trying to catch me by surprise?"

Tom shrugged and tried for nonchalant, but his eyes betrayed his amusement. "It worked, didn't it?"

"Yeah," Chris said, eyeing his lips. "It did."

They stared at each for a single shared breath, bodies held tight, vibrating with strain.

Stalling, Chris soaked in every detail of Tom's face. "Did you finish your homework?" He wasn't sure why he asked it, but it was late on a school night and he knew Tom spent a good amount of time at the library. He could only hope the boy didn't slip on his academics. But Tom, eyes half hooded, breathing shallow through parted, pink-tinted lips, squeezed Chris's biceps, a blush fanning over his full cheeks.

            "Yes, daddy," he moaned, so soft, a whisper really, but carried over his trembling lips with such a deep longing that left Chris speechless, rendered mute and gaping.

            Tom winced, realizing what he'd just said, and looked down, trying to squirm out Chris's hard grip. But Chris kept Tom firmly against him, an eternity of blinks passing between them.

Tom couldn't stop shaking, fingers curled in Chris's shirt, half afraid of how Chris would react and half mortified that he’d actually _said that._ There went his hopes of something coming out of this, of Chris choosing to ignore all the red flags and actually be with him.

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, you're so stupid—.

But then Chris's eyelashes fluttered and something softened in his face and Tom had only a second to recognize that look, and brace himself.

They rushed toward each other at the same time, lips crashing hard, Chris hauling Tom up against him. Toes brushing the ground, Tom clung to him, both so quiet, so quiet, so aware of their gasps, their tiny noises.

They broke apart, faces separated by an inch, breaths harsh, hands rough in each other's hair.

“You," Chris rasped, the blue of his eyes dwarfed by black. "You and your hot little mouth, tasting like sugar and candy and everything forbidden."

Tom shook his head hard, toes still skimming the carpet. "No. Daddy, no. Not forbidden. Not to you. Never."

Chris sighed out a groan Tom felt more than heard. Even in that moment, his ears were sharp on noises around them, searching for signs that they would be intruded upon, interrupted, forced apart. But they were still alone. Only a handful of moments had passed, as hard as it was for him to believe.

“You really like that, don’t you? Calling me ‘daddy’?”

Brows drawn low, looking for all the world like a tiny vulnerable puppy, Tom nodded, thumb tracing the stubbled plane of his cheek.

A small measure of defeat crept into Chris's features, shoulders hunching, brows drooping. His eyes fell, and he sighed.

"I'm fucked, aren't I?"

Tom cupped his face with a tender smile, and then hugged him around the neck. "No. Nothing will happen. I promise you." He kissed his cheek, and they held each other tightly. "I promise you."

Chris nodded into his shoulder, nose buried in his neck.

“You smell so good,” he breathed, face burrowing deeper. Tom smiled and cupped the back of his head affectionately.

Chris finally set him gently back down. Their fingers stayed laced.

"What time are you out?"

"As soon as we close. In like an hour."

Chris nodded. "I'm taking you home with me."

Breathless, Tom nodded, not daring to believe. Inside his ribcage, his heart was trying to burst its way free. Chris went back to his table after another quick, hard kiss, locking eyes with him until he drifted out of the aisle.

Tom spun in place, surrounded by the titles of books and shelves of wood he'd come to know and love so much. It seemed only fitting that they were the ones that bore witness to his tearful grin, his ecstatic laugh smothered by his own hand, not wanting to make a sound, a single sound to alert anyone to this great and devastatingly gorgeous feeling flowering in his chest.

He needed a lollipop. Stat.

Spinning, he headed back to the front counter, glad to still see the place deserted, Mary singing softly to herself from the back room.

**

The first thing he did was text his mom.

<I’m working on a project with Brandon, from physics? Can I spend the night so we can get it done sooner? Please please?>

His mother was a bank teller, and was often home even before Tom got off work at the library. She was very trusting of him, and he felt only slightly guilty about abusing that trust now, but he was so excited about going home with Chris, he could hardly sit still. He knew she would let him go. There wasn’t any reason for her not to.

<OK honey. Be careful. Do you need money? To order a pizza or something?>

<Nah, thanks tho! He said his mom is making lasagna for dinner. I’ll catch a ride with him to school tomorrow k?>

And then because he thought to press his luck in case he and Chris decided to spend more time together, he sent another text.

<If we don’t get the project done, I might go over again after school. I’ll let you know!>

She said okay and Tom put his phone away, feeling his pulse jump erratically in his throat.

He was going home with Chris. Chris was taking him home and there they would…

Tom blanched slightly. He touched his chest, fingers dragging over the soft cotton of his shirt. Should he shower before? But how will he ask Chris for some time alone before they…did anything?

Just ask him, you idiot. He bit his nail, suddenly immensely nervous. He had showered that morning. Maybe he was worrying over nothing. To get his mind off it, he went to the back room to ask Mary if she needed any help.

**       

Backpack on, Tom left the library and walked out into the parking lot. Chris had left a few minutes earlier, slipping him a note to wait for him by the bus stop. Tom did just that. Sitting at the bench, he fiddled with his phone, his hands shaking. He kept taking deep breaths, chest tight. A few minutes went by, and he was beginning to wonder if Chris had changed his mind, had decided to abandon him. But then a dark blue car pulled up to the curb and Chris rolled down the window, smiling at him.

Tom returned the smile, sighing out in relief. Climbing in, he rolled the window back up and put his seatbelt on.

He couldn’t stop staring at Chris, his tall body folded nicely on the seat, long legs disappearing under the steering wheel. He’d loosened his tie, shirt rolled up to his elbows. His belt buckle winked at Tom, pressed flush to his flat belly, and he suddenly wanted to smell Chris there, kiss the skin and trace the trail of hair he knew was hidden from him.

"You okay?”

Tom blinked. Chris was smiling as he pulled back onto the road, eyes on the rearview mirror. Tom eased back in his seat.

"Yeah. I’m great.”

"Are you hungry? Would you like to eat something?”

It was as if the single decision of giving in and doing this had lifted a great burden off Chris’s shoulders. He smiled easier, eyes crinkling. He still looked tired, Tom noticed, but he thought that had to do with all the strain he was under from work and his own research.

“No, thanks. I just want to spend time with you.”

Chris tossed him a glance, teeth flashing in the passing streetlamps. His arm reached across the seat and Tom took his hand, folding it between his own. Veins wide and thick twisted from knuckles to wrist, sinking into the lean meat of his forearm, a dusting of thick blond hairs soft under Tom’s fingers. He caressed him, heart pounding madly when Chris opened his hand to grip Tom’s thigh gently.

"I think I’m breaking the law,” he mused quietly, turning onto another street.

Tom’s head snapped up. “Sixteen is the age of consent.”

"How do you know that?”

He shrugged. “I looked it up.”

“Where?”

Tom rolled his eyes and pinched the skin at Chris’s wrist. “I do work at a library, you know.”

“Ow,” Chris said with a laugh, squeezing his thigh hard. “Are you always this cheeky?”

“Normally, yeah.”

They stopped at a red light.

“Unless you have a lollipop in your mouth?”

“Or other things,” Tom said quietly. “Gum, gummy bears…fingers.”

Chris’s face reddened, even in the dark interior of the car. “Is that all you’ve had in your mouth?”

Tom swallowed and met his eyes. “Yes.” When Chris said nothing, he looked out the window. “David’s wanted to…you know. Have sex. But I never did. So I didn’t let him. But he wants to.”

"That the boy you were with?”

Tom nodded, and Chris continued driving.

“We’ve been seeing each other for a few months.”

“You don’t sound too excited about him.”

Tom sighed and squeezed Chris’s fingers. “I guess I’m not.”

“Then why are you with him?”

Thinking for a minute, Tom went with pure honesty. “I didn’t know I’d find something better.”

Their eyes met and Chris looked away quickly, pulling in to a small house at the end of a row of similar looking houses. The street was dark, but just past the far outline of trees he could see the tall buildings of the university campus. Chris turned the car off.

“You’re sixteen. Of course there’ll be something better.”

“I’m not naïve.”

"What makes you think it’s me?”

Tom huffed out a sigh. Unbuckling his seatbelt, he slid right next to Chris.

“I’m purposefully not thinking anything. Who knows what could happen. I just want to feel. I want to feel everything with you.”

Large hands bracketed his face and then Chris was kissing him again. Tom moaned, wanting to drown in that sensation, those full lips molding with his, the hot and shared breaths, the rasp of his stubble on Tom’s chin. Chris was so much bigger than him, and bending over Tom in the front seat, he loved the feel of being gathered in his strong arms, crushed to that chest.

"Let’s go inside,” Chris whispered and Tom nodded. Backpack dangling from his one hand, the other holding Chris’s, Tom followed him inside. The house was dark and cool. He could barely make out the shapes of the furniture, and the tall outline of the kitchen entrance farther in.

“Sorry. I usually keep the temperature lower than most people. I feel like I’m always burning up.”

Dropping his bag, Tom hugged him around the waist, face to his chest, feeling that warmth. Because it was impressive, all that heat, and Tom wanted to be naked and covered with it.

Chris dropped his keys and hugged him back, both standing in the middle of his neat living room.

"Come with me.”

He led him down a short hallway, Tom sticking close to Chris in the dark.

"I'm not kidnapping you this moment, am I?" There was a light chuckle to his words, but Tom knew Chris was nervous about the age difference. He squeezed his hand in reassurance.

"No. I told my mom I was going to spend the night with a friend working on a project."

"A _friend_ ," Chris said low, practically growling, and Tom laughed.

"Yes, a friend! My daddy's my friend...isn't he?"

Chris pulled him into his bedroom and closed the door behind them.

"Is that what I am now? Your daddy?"

Tom stood on his tiptoes and sniffed around Chris's neck. "Yes. I kinda think of you that way. All the time. But if you don't want me to call you that, I won't."

Chris cupped his cheeks. "It'll take some getting used to, but you can call me that. I...kind of like it."

Tom's eyes darted between his. "Thank you, Daddy. I promise I'll be careful."

Their kiss was slow, still learning each other. But they unbuttoned buttons and toed off their shoes, stumbling over to the edge of the bed, unmade and messy.

"I don't sleep much, but I'm sorry it's a sty in here."

"No, it's not," Tom gasped, angling his head to give Chris room. "But why don't you sleep, Daddy? You look so tired, so exhausted."

"Part of it's age, baby. I'm old—."

"No, you're not."

" _Older_.”

Tom huffed.

“And I'm always in the classroom, or meeting with students, or working on my paper. It's kept me from sleep."

He mouthed at Tom’s neck, gathering him close, their hips pressed tight.

"Mmm, Daddy, I want to take care of you."

Chris sighed, a quick blast of air on his throat. "Just having you here, baby, it's making me feel like I can... _breathe_ again."

Shirtless now, he pushed Tom down on the bed, bouncing softly on the rumpled sheets. Falling over him, he kissed him again, tongue nudging at Tom's lips, which opened slowly to let him in. Swirling, they both moaned when their tongues met, wet and hot and powerfully unlike anything Tom had ever felt. Kisses with David were nothing like this.

Chris pushed at Tom's jeans, sliding them low on his hips. Drawing back, he yanked them off his legs, leaving Tom exposed in only his boxers. Those were quickly disposed of, and Chris sat forward on his knees, staring at him. Tom lay utterly still, hands flexed in the sheets, face burning from the scrutiny, the rapt and open awe. This was the first time a man had seen him naked before. Breaths stuttering, he made to cover himself with his hands, but Chris took his wrists.

"Don't. You're...you're fucking amazing, Tom."

"Daddy..."

"Yes, baby."

"You next," he said, tugging at Chris's trousers. "I want to see you."

Chris rid himself of the rest of his clothes and finally stood before Tom, naked. Jaw dropping open, Tom leaned up on his elbows. He was tall and well-muscled, with only the bottom part of his belly gone slightly soft, no doubt from years of sitting hunched over at a desk, bent over his books and his papers. But he was gorgeous. His legs were long and strong, covered in dark blond hairs, the muscles flexing as he settled on both feet. Hanging heavy from his groin, Chris's cock was thick, half-erect and rooted at the base by a bundle of blond curls.

Tom's mouth watered at the sight of him.

"A bit different, yeah?" Chris said, looking down at himself and then gesturing to Tom. Their dissimilarities were startling, but it was because of them, in addition to their very obvious similarities, that Tom felt his cock fill to bursting, his skin tightening painfully.

"You're perfect, Daddy," he whispered. He squinted and sat up, tracing his fingers over words tattooed over Chris’s left ribs. “What does it say?”

Chris covered his hand with his own. “In Spanish it says, ‘Bendita la luz en tu mirada, desde el alma’. It means, ‘bless the light in your look, from the soul’. I got it in Spain when I went to witness the pilgrimage to the bones of St. James buried in the cathedral at Santiago de Compostela. It’s what I’m writing my dissertation on.”

“That’s beautiful,” Tom whispered, and bent to kiss the inked skin. Chris had seen so much of the world, and Tom felt that by simple touch he could infuse himself with the sights and sounds that had marked Chris for life, that had laid claim him to as a pilgrim in his own right.

He lifted his hand and Chris took it, guiding them back to the bed, lying half over Tom, stretched long and heavy. They kissed and grabbed at each other, their legs twining, cocks brushing.

"Oh god..." Tom's head fell back, hips thrusting up. Chris chuckled and nibbled on his ear, feeling the tremble in Tom's limbs, lifting his leg to anchor over Chris's back.

"I have lube," he said, leaning back for air. He glanced around uncertainly. "And I think I have a condom somewhere."

Tom grasped his shoulders before he moved away. "Do we have to?"

Chris paused, brows furrowed in question.

"I mean," Tom hurried to explain. "I mean, the lube yes. But do we have to use a condom?"

Chris softened, hugging him close. "It's for protection, baby. Just to make sure that we're safe."

"But I'm clean, Daddy. I've done nothing with David. Besides kiss. Are you clean, Daddy?"

Chris stroked his cheek. "I am, baby. Yeah."

They gazed at each other, Tom's hands gliding down Chris's back, his thin calves rubbing against the hard muscle of his thigh.

"You're sure?"

"Yes, please. I want you so bad."

Bending low, Chris kissed him. "Okay, baby. You have me. I'm here."

Tom whined, desperate, and they rolled, Chris engulfing Tom with his weight and his heat and his lips.

Of all the times Tom tried fingering himself, none felt like how Chris fingered him, slicked and thick, squeezing first his pointer, middle, and then ring fingers into him, moving them around, widening and playing with him. And when he took his cock with the other hand and closed his mouth over the head, Tom keened and lifted off the bed, some sharp and gnarled wire of light shooting straight to his groin. He was spiraling. Chris's lips and fingers drowned him in a deep and vibrant well of emotion, the hard slap of his palm on Tom’s flesh mixing with his cries.

Tears pricked his vision, and he clawed at Chris's arms.

"Please, Daddy. I'm gonna come. I'm gonna come, can I—."

Chris hummed and Tom's spine arched, fingers clenching in that blond hair. Chris kept his head down, lips sealed around the head of Tom's cock, swallowing what he gave, sucking at him still, fingers never losing the rhythm inside. Tom winced and fell back.

"Oh, _Daddy_...I—I—god, no, no, please."

Chris lifted off, fingering him still. He pressed his fingers a little deeper and Tom cried out, eyes blinded by sparks.

"Fuck! I can't, I can't."

Kissing his hipbones, Chris crawled back up. Their lips met, Tom eagerly opening his mouth to taste himself, tongues butting gently.

Hard and ready, Chris angled his pelvis low, Tom's thighs parting for him. The first push in drew a startled gasp from Tom, who couldn't have prepared himself enough for the width of him. He tensed.

"Easy," Chris murmured, eyes hooded. He took Tom's head in his hands and stared down at him. "Easy, baby."

Tom nodded, eyes rolling in slight panic. "Yes, Daddy."

Another push and Tom flinched, trying to close his legs. Chris braced a hand on his thigh and angled his leg open again.

Another slow inch and Tom shuddered, eyes squeezed shut.

"You're so big, Daddy," he whispered, shaking his head, blinking up at the ceiling. His trembling hands curved over Chris's ass, lashes fluttering. "So...big."

Sinking in to the root, Chris settled against the cradle of his hips, holding himself up on both arms. He was tight. Fuck, he was tight, tighter than he imagined. It took every ounce of his fleeting strength not to ram in hard, pound into him deep. At least not yet. Not so soon. He waited a few moments, needing them both to adjust. Panting, he looked down at the boy, spread wide beneath him, pale flesh tinted pink. Eyes glazed, mouth parted, he was the pure picture of sin and Chris wanted to devour him, claim him entirely, keep him forever.

"Tom," he rasped, collapsing down over him, the boy taking his weight with a small grunt. Embracing him, lips hovering, he started to move, hips rocking back and forth, flesh sliding thickly together. Tom scrunched up, legs drawing high, bracketing Chris's waist.

"Daddy, yes," he moaned, his spent cock sluggish and moist between them. The more Chris moved, the more it filled, reminding Chris how eagerly his body used to respond at sixteen, too. Trapped between their bodies, Tom's erection started leaking again, pooling on his belly. He hardly felt it, absorbed as he was by the man above him.

"Will you come for me again, baby?"

Eyes wide and swimming with tears, Tom whined. "I don't know if I can, Daddy. I feel like I'll fall off...the edge of everything...if I do."

"That's how you're supposed to feel. I want you to feel like that always. I want to be the only one to give it to you, okay?"

Tears spilled and Tom's face broke into a wide and grateful smile. "I'm yours. Chris, I'm yours. I promise. No one else's."

"Good," he grunted, planting his hand on the mattress, cupping the back of Tom's neck with the other. It angled his head up and they both looked down at where their bodies moved together, at the point where Chris speared into him, a little rougher, a little harder. Tom cried out softly with every thrust, and Chris shivered, having known he would make the loveliest sounds. For someone so thin and tall, Tom had a decent sized cock, and he stared at it now, twitching on his stomach, filling so quickly it started bobbing in the air. It must have been nearly painful for the boy, a recovery so quick, but it was the best kind of pain. Dulling the boy's eyes, neck and chest flush as if by fever. Inside his own chest, Chris's heart beat wildly, his need to release building and building. Balls heavy and slapping the fuzzy cleft of the boy’s ass, he rutted and plunged deep.

He cupped the boy's cheek. "Still with me, baby?"

Blinking, Tom nodded vaguely. "Daddy...don't stop. I'm close. I can feel it."

Concentrating, Chris kept it at a steady angle, hoping to strike Tom's prostate. And after another minute, with breaths shallow and nails deep in Chris's back, Tom came again, screaming into the small room. He shuddered violently, and with a soft whimper went limp in Chris's arms, head lolling on the mattress. He blinked slowly.

Triggered by his release, hole contracting around him, Chris flattened himself over the boy and finally came. Hips stuttering to a stop, he groaned, his frantic shoves moving Tom bodily on the bed. Holding his thighs, Chris kept him still as he emptied into him, tiny galaxies exploding in his vision, a surge of power rippling over him, so that he rightly thought he might faint from the force of it. He cried out brokenly as a second wave hit him, stronger even than the first. Arms buckling, he caught himself on his elbows before crushing Tom with his weight. But Tom's arms lifted anyway, wrapped around the back of him so that Chris eased down with another groan, blind from the pleasure, from the feel of Tom soaking him in, filled to the brim with his seed. A final lingering pulses, and then he slipped out, something warm and creamy spilling with him.

Lying there together, they caught their breath, sticky from sweat and cum. Faces an inch apart, they blinked at each other. And then Tom smiled, lean face flushed with heat. He took Chris's hand and brought it to his mouth, where he swallowed down two of his fingers, placed warm and gentle on his wide tongue. Chris watched, curious and impossibly turned on, as he sucked at them gently. Eyes falling closed, Tom succumbed to sleep, Chris's fingers still snug in his mouth. Too tired to move, Chris closed his own eyes, that wave of drowsiness that so often eluded him these past few months settling over him like a warm and familiar blanket, easing his exhausted mind into a welcome numbness, so heave the dark waters of sleep.

**

He wasn't sure what time it was. It was still late, possibly not even the far side of midnight. But he woke with another raging hard-on, and Tom was a sleeping bundle in his arms. Half-asleep himself, Chris kissed the curls at his neck, spooning him from behind. Tom stirred, whispered something.

"Daddy?" But as if he knew, he tugged at Chris's wrist and brought his fingers to his mouth again. Chris kept his hand there, the boy's eager sucking lessened somewhat by his half-lucidity.

"It's me, baby," he murmured, kissing his ear.

Both not entirely conscious, Chris rolled the boy onto his stomach and mounted him, leg thrown over his hip for balance. Fingers still in Tom's mouth, he pushed in, both groaning. Tom's pert little ass lifted and he milked at Chris's fingers harder, his tongue coming alive over his knuckles. He fucked into him hard, still slicked and loose from earlier. Face in his neck, Chris inhaled the boy's scent, one hand gripping his hips hard. He would bruise, and Chris felt something flicker in pleasure at the thought, possessive already of this warm and pliant gift he'd been given.

Tom mumbled, he whined, moaning ' _Daddy',_ sucking still, and Chris breathed out a desperate sob, unbelieving, unbelieving, was he dreaming, was this happening, was this boy all his?

It wasn't long before the boy was clenching up and squealing around his fingers, spurting onto the sheets under him. Chris let himself go, hips ramming down fast, determined.

And then he spilled, swelling inside him, gripping Tom's thin hip, pulsing.

He crumpled to the side, drawing Tom closer into the circle of his arms. The boy was already asleep, still sucking gently at Chris's thumb.

**

He didn't wake again until he was on the verge of orgasm once more. His eyes flew open, blinded by the sunlight just beginning to creep in through the windows. Between his legs, Tom's blond head was bobbing fast, Chris's cock trapped in the hot suction of his mouth.

"Fuck, fuck... _shit."_

His orgasm should have killed him. Like a shot of light in his veins, it struck through him, electrifying every nerve ending. He shot up in bed, grabbing Tom's head and holding him down on his cock. The boy didn't protest. He gagged and coughed wetly, but recovered and swallowed his cum, breathing loudly through his nose, holding obediently still.

"Good boy," Chris breathed, trembling and convinced he was dead. A ghost. Not a living, breathing thing for this boy to fondle and play with.

Tom lifted off him with a pop and a wide grin, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"You were hard when I woke up, Daddy. I couldn't help myself."

"Fuck," Chris groaned, eyes rolling back as he fell to the pillows again. Tom laughed and tucked into his side, his erection hard on his leg. He rolled his pelvis against him.

"Daddy, can I...?"

"Yeah, baby. But...not with your hand. Rub yourself on me."

Smiling at their game, Tom sat up and straddled him, his long thin legs folding on either side of his hips. And then he began to swivel his waist, bent forward over Chris so their chests were flush. Stuck between them, his cock rested engorged and hot, the tip red, leaking. Chris took Tom's wrists and anchored them to the bed, so Tom couldn't change positions. It brought their faces close, eyes wide, lashes full and thick.

"You're going to kill me," Chris groaned, eyes racing to catch every cringe, every grimace and smile, every frown and lit bite.

"Will you be mine, Daddy? All mine?" Tom asked, voice rough, ragged as he neared his climax.

"Yours," Chris promised. He released his wrists and tugged Tom up, up, until he was straddling his neck and pushing his cock into Chris's mouth. Pumping weakly, Tom cried out when Chris stuck two fingers into his hole, searching, searching. The scream is what did it. He rubbed at the bundle of nerves deep inside Tom and the boy released into his mouth, hands tangled in his hair, head tossed back.

Returning Tom from his orgasm-induced haze took some sweet coaxing, Chris laying him on the bed, kissing his face, whispering to him. Tom finally roused, and hugged him tightly. Surrounded by Chris and his sheets and his scent, Tom realized he could live in this tiny bubble forever.

"What time do you have school?"

"I don't know," Tom mumbled, snuggling into him to sleep again.

"Babe, come on. What time do you go in?"

A long suffering sigh later, he said, "Seven-thirty."

Chris checked the clock. "Good. We have an hour. I say we shower and I'll make you some food. And then I'll take you to school." He nuzzled his temple. "Okay, baby?”

"Okay, Daddy."

**

After showering, Tom padded barefoot into the kitchen.        

“Hey, I used your toothbru…” He stopped, a smile growing on his face.

Breakfast was buttered toast and apple slices, with orange juice and scrambled eggs. He stared at his plate for a full ten seconds, so long that Chris, tossing a dish towel over his shoulder, shifted on his feet.

“What?”

“This is so adorably domestic.”

Chris glared good-naturedly and slapped his ass. “Eat up. I’m taking you to school.”

“Yes, Daddy,” Tom said, emphasizing the word with a grin.

Chris blushed and sat next to him at the table, pecking at his own food. He was silent, and Tom watched him with a nervous eye. Tearing into his toast, he said. “You’re not regretting me, are you?”

Turning to him, Chris frowned. “Why would you say it like that?” When Tom said nothing, he clarified. “Like, I don’t regret what we did, but I don’t regret _you_?”

Tom shrugged and popped an apple slice into his mouth.

“It’s just…it sounds like…” He closed his mouth and shook his head, scooping up eggs onto his fork.

“Sounds like what?” Tom stopped chewing, hand on Chris’s elbow.

Chris sighed. “Well, it just sounds like something someone would say when they’ve been abandoned.” His brows drew low. “Where’s your dad, babe?”

Tom’s eyes fell to his food. “Gone,” he said, a little too flippantly.

“It’s just you and your mom at home?”

“Yup.”

Chris got the feeling he didn’t want to talk about it. But he hated the wrinkle that appeared between the boy’s brows. He’d made him uncomfortable, and that was the last thing Chris wanted.

“Hey,” he said, putting a hand on Tom’s knee. “You have me now, too. Okay?” He laughed quietly, looking down. “I feel like you’ve had me for a while, even before last night, and neither of us knew it.”

Tom blinked, eyes darting over Chris’s face, and then he turned in his seat and threw his arms around him.

“Baby,” Chris murmured, holding the boy tightly, stroking his hair.

“Thank you, Daddy.” Tom nosed along his jaw, leaving a trail of warm kisses.

And then he gasped and pulled away, eyes on something behind Chris.

“What is it?” he said, turning to look.

On the counter by his stack of mail and fast food menus, was a pile of red and purple blow pops. Remembering he’d left them there, his face turned beet red.

Tom jumped up and gathered the candies in his palms, wide eyes on Chris. “Are these for me!”

“Now, wait a minute. I don’t think you should eat them all—.”

Tom, already tearing the wrapper off of one, put a hand on his hip. “Not you, too. I hear it enough from my mother.” He stuck the lollipop in his mouth, defiant.

Chris rose and went to stand before him. He bracketed him against the counter. Tom’s eyes flicked over him a little nervously, cheeks hollowed around the blow pop.

“Are you going to disobey your Daddy?”

Tom moaned, talk like that always turning him to mush. His hands shifted to Chris’s shoulders, and then he tucked the sucker into his cheek. “No, Daddy. I wouldn’t.”

Chris kissed his eyebrow, trailing his lips over his smooth forehead. “Just this one. The rest are for later.”

“I take such good care of my teeth,” Tom pouted. “I don’t know why no one believes me.”

Chris chuckled. “I do believe you. But everything in moderation is good, too.”

Tom’s eyes fluttered and he rose on his tiptoes so their hips brushed. “Everything, Daddy?” He popped the candy out of his mouth, already stained red.

Groaning, Chris caught his lips and kissed him hard, their bodies crashing against the edge of the counter. They ground and struggled, Chris finally lifting Tom to the countertop, the boy’s legs wrapping around his waist.

“Wait,” he gasped, pulling away, smoothing his hands down Tom’s back. “We can’t. You’ll be late. And I have nothing left in me. I swear, I’ll have a heart attack.”

“You won’t, you old goose,” Tom laughed, embracing him again.

Chris huffed. “Old is right.”

“You’re my old goose.” And then, “Where did you even get these?” He gestured to the lollipop in his hand.

Having the good grace to blush, Chris ducked his head, embarrassed. “I’ve been taking one a day from the jar the advisors keep in the undergraduate office. Collecting them, to bring to you.”

Tom hummed and went soft in his arms, lifting his chin for more kisses.

“I love that you think of me like that. During your day. Do you think of me a lot?”

“Nearly every damn minute.”

He giggled. “I think of you too.”

“You know, seeing you with that other boy at the movies,” Chris started. “I didn’t like it.” He thumbed at the spot where David had left a hickey on Tom’s neck all those weeks ago, completely gone by now. In its place was Chris’s own mark, but lower on his clavicle, hidden by the collar of his shirt. It bloomed darkly.

“God, that date,” Tom whispered. He rolled his eyes. “That’s all he took me there for, was to make out. After I saw you, knowing you were there, I felt better.” He shrugged. “I felt safer.”

“I’ll take care of you,” Chris promised, and they kissed once more.

They finished their breakfast and piled the dishes into the dishwasher.

Tom’s phone buzzed a few times, and he sighed at the messages. “David,” was all he said.

Just as Chris was grabbing his keys, Tom took his arm. “I think I’ll take the bus to school, okay?”

“Why? I can take you.”

“Well, one, I don’t think it’s a good idea that people see us together. And two, I wanted to sit for a while and think about something.”

Chris fiddled with his keys. “David?”

“Yeah.” Tom hitched his backpack on. “I’m going to end it with him. I think…I think I know now that I never wanted to be with him in the first place.”

“I’m sorry, babe,” Chris said.

Tom smiled. “For what? I’m seeing it clearly now. He’s not what I want. And I’ve been stringing him along because I tend to hesitate. And that’s not fair to him. He wants what I only want to give to you.”

“Babe,” Chris whispered, and hugged him, the bulk of Tom’s backpack caught under his arms.

“Promise me you’ll sleep today, Daddy?”

“I promise. I don’t have class until two. I’ll go back to bed in a minute.”

Tom left down the drive, the morning light still subdued behind low-hanging clouds. Chris stumbled back to his room and stared down at the bed. It was spattered with dry cum, impossible amounts. He would wash them later. Yawning, he draped himself over the mattress, his sheets smelling sweet like Tom and musky from their fucking. Hugging a pillow to his chest, he inhaled deep and was asleep within minutes.

**

Tom bit his thumbnail, leaning around the corner of the hallway. David was nowhere in sight. Taking his chance, he hurried across the hall and ducked into his Physics class, sinking into this seat with a sigh of relief. He shifted around a bit, still sore from sex with Chris, but he finally settled down.

Just as he was unpacking his things, David appeared in the doorway. He waved at Tom to come out into the hallway. Tom shook his head.

David waved at him again.

Tom shook his head again.

David scoffed and then peeked at the teacher, busy writing something at his desk. Much to Tom’s horror, he snuck in.

“What’s with you?” David whispered, squatting by his desk.

“ _Nothing,_ ” Tom hissed, glancing around.

“You ignored me all day yesterday. Why didn’t you respond to my texts, my calls?”

“I was busy.”

“With what?” David’s face betrayed his disbelief. It was true that Tom usually dedicated all of his extra time to his job at the library or to him, going with him sometimes to the skating park, where Tom would read as boys skidded into the holes in the ground that looked like hollowed out swimming pools. Or they would talk on the phone late at night, David usually controlling the conversation; or he would knock at Tom’s window and they would kiss and make out half hanging over the ledge. They had done none of those things yesterday.

"I was with a friend, okay? You should go. Mr. Peterson will give you detention for this.”

Mouth set in a grim line, David finally left. Tom’s phone buzzed almost immediately.

<Meet me by the bleachers at lunch>

He sighed and put his phone away, stomach tangled in a net of worry and guilt.

**

David jumped down from the top edge of the bleacher and landed right in front of Tom, scaring him half to death.

“Jesus, David. Give me a warning next time.”

Eyes squinted by the sun, David pointed a finger at him. “What the fuck’s going on with you?”

Shoulders sagging, Tom knew he had to come clean. It would be the best thing for both of them. “Look, David…we need to talk.”

David stiffened. “What about? About where you were yesterday?”

Tom looked at his feet. “Yes.”

David ran a hand through his hair, exasperated. “What’s going on? Just tell me.”

“I was with someone.”

Freezing, the other boy narrowed his eyes on Tom. “Who?”

“I just think—.”

“Are you dumping me?”

“David—.”

“Who is he?”

“You don’t know—.”

“Tell me who he is, Tom.”

“No!”

They stared at each other, a hot breeze blowing through, dragging an empty water bottle in its wake. David kicked at it.

“You were with him last night?”

“I was with him for a bit yesterday, yeah.” He didn’t want David to know that he’d spent the night at Chris’s house.

“You slept with him.” It wasn’t a question, and Tom wondered what it was about himself that made the answer so transparent.

He looked down, his silence admission enough.

David’s hand came flying out of the corner of his eye and then Tom’s head snapped to the side, a burning sting erupting over his cheek.

David had slapped him.

Cradling his face, Tom whipped back around, shock widening his eyes, mouth parted.

“Fucking whore,” David spat, and Tom blinked, hurt spreading like dark ink in his chest.

“W-what?”

“I’ve wanted to sleep with you since we first got together, Tom! And this guy just comes out of nowhere and you—you just give it to him?”

Anger flaring, Tom rounded on him. “And what? I owed you sex or something? I’m not something you can just invest time in and then expect sex as a reward, David. What the fuck’s wrong with you? I don’t want to be with you, okay? I’m telling you because it’s right. I want to be with him. Now you know.” He turned away, ready to head back indoors.

“Whore,” David whispered again, turning from him in disgust.

Tom straightened. “I’m not a whore!”

David held still for a moment, and then leapt toward Tom, who stood immobilized. He slammed Tom's chest hard with both hands, sending him crashing against the side of the bleachers, pain lancing up his back. David crowded him in.

"What are you doing—!"

But David clamped a hand over Tom's mouth. "You should've given it to me. I know you were a virgin, Tom. You should have given it to me. Why didn't you!"

Tom tried yelling, but the hand over his mouth muffled his voice. He fought and pulled at David, finally shaking his head free. His cheeks felt bruised.

"I owed you nothing," he gasped, trying to dislodge David from off him. But David pressed him down, shoving at Tom's thighs with his legs. Panicked, Tom struggled. "Stop. What are you doing? David, stop it!"

"Shut up." David tried kissing him, but Tom shrieked and moved his head, fear clenching his heart. Taking his arms, David squeezed and started angling Tom to the ground. Terrified, Tom's mind raced, frantically searching for a way out. He was so far from the main part of the school. The old baseball diamond hadn't been in use since the year before, abandoned when the new field had been built. No one would hear him. No one would come. And then a familiar voice entered his thoughts, deep and sonorous, a voice belonging to the older black gentleman who taught the self-defense classes held at the library common room every Tuesday night.

" _They have you by the arms, they have you pinned down. You plant your feet. Get yourself a wide stance. Good. Now angle your hands in and pinch the skin on the inside of their elbows. Pinch it good and hard, now. That will loosen their grip on you. You lift your arm and bring it down across your face, right between the two of you. Once dislodged, you kick them hard on the inside of their knee. This will buckle them. Their face is brought low. An elbow to the chin will do it. The hard part of your elbow, there you go. It won't hurt you. That's the good thing about elbows. But it will hurt them._

Tom didn't realize he had started moving until he was halfway through the instructions thundering in his head. He caught David by surprise with the pinch, but he downright startled him with the kick in the knee. Crying out in pain, David bent at the waist, clutching his leg. Tom brought his elbow across his proffered chin, the crack sounding loud under the aluminum cave of the bleachers.

David collapsed on his side, a dribble of blood spilling to the concrete. Tom grabbed his backpack and shuffled away a few steps, breathing hard.

"I was never yours, David. You can't go through life expecting shit like that from people. It has to be given! You need to grow up. And leave me alone."

He spun on his heel and ran across the dusty baseball diamond, tears blurring his sight. In the nearest bathroom, he washed and dried his face. The mirror showed how ashen he looked, how shaken, his cheek spotting with color from the slap. His shirt was pulled low and he adjusted it quickly, the bruise Chris had left on his clavicle hidden again. He sucked in great breaths, not believing how David had assaulted him. And over a breakup. All those times they'd spent alone, Tom refusing his advances. It was like a ticking time bomb. Tom sent a silent prayer of thanks to the self-defense instructor, wherever he was that Friday afternoon. Searching in his pocket, he pulled out one of the blow pops he'd snuck away when Chris wasn't looking. Unwrapping it, he stuck it in his mouth, and sagged against the wall, missing Chris desperately.

**

They saw each other again at the library. Chris winked at him as he passed the front desk and Tom flushed, legs clenching. As if imbued by a new focus, a new drive, Chris worked on his dissertation for three hours straight, stopping only to cross-reference a source and copy quotes verbatim. Tom handled the returned books, shelving them throughout the evening, not touching Chris, whom he knew was in some kind of mental academic zone. Afterward, he picked him up at the bus stop and took him home again, where they ate a quick dinner before sinking to the floor in the living room, urgent kisses and burning touches driving them mad with longing. Still half-clothed, Chris took Tom on all fours, his jeans bunched at his knees, shirt pushed up to his shoulders. He bounced under Chris's thrusts, both moaning at their release. In the shower later, Chris cupped Tom's face and then frowned, peering at his cheek.

"Babe, what happened?"

Tom froze, remembering David's slap. He looked down and mumbled. "Nothing, Daddy."

"This wasn't here this morning," he insisted, rubbing his thumb over the ridge of his cheekbone, which burned. It was the point of contact that had hurt the most. Was it bruising?

He swallowed and took a deep breath. "I talked with David," he started, but Chris bristled.

" _David_ did this? He hit you?" He looked around the shower stall, as if David might suddenly be there, anger making his nostrils flare. Tom grabbed at him.

"Daddy, listen to me. I told him what he needed to hear. It's over."

"Like hell it is. He hit you, Tom. How old is he, like seventeen? Eighteen?"

"You can't hit a kid, Chris."

"Oh, so I can have sex with you but not beat the shit out of some kid who deserves it? What's the age of consent on _that_?"

"I already did," Tom said quietly.

Chris paused. "Did what?"

"I kicked his ass. Like you said, he hit me. And then tried to force me to the ground. So I stopped him."

Chris stared, lost for words.

"What? You think I can't throw a punch? I was fucking mad, too! He hit me!"

"Babe," Chris started, reaching for him. Tom fell into his arms, and they rocked together under the spray of water.

"I was scared, Daddy. I didn't know what to do. And then I remembered. I remembered what the man said."

Chris kissed the crown of his head. "What man, baby?"

"The man who teaches self-defense at work. I listen in on his sessions sometimes. And it was like he was in my head, telling me what to do."

Chris sighed. “Well remind me to thank that man with my life.”

He palmed Tom’s injured cheek, as if the presence of his hand there would prevent further harm from befalling him. And swaying with him in that warm and foggy stall, Tom believed that it really could.

**

Over the next several weeks, they hid their relationship, meeting only on the weekends so that his mother wouldn’t get suspicious of his late nights. But they texted each other and talked on the phone constantly, usually late at night, Tom huddled under his blankets, phone pressed tight to his ear. Their text messages were constant throughout the day, the tension between them mounting until they were near bursting by the time Saturday rolled around.

School let out for Tom and he started working more hours at the library during his vacation. David actively avoided him, never making eye contact, which was fine with Tom. He found he didn’t miss David at all, and wondered how he’d even tolerated him all those months. With his mother’s belief in his suddenly burgeoning ‘social’ life, Tom found it easier to spend time at Chris’s house. They cooked together and watched movies in the living room, liking to sit curled up in one corner, Tom’s head on Chris’s chest. It still caught Chris by surprise the times Tom would suddenly pull his fingers into his mouth. It wasn’t always meant sexually, as the boy seemed to find great comfort in sucking on Chris’s fingers, completely engrossed in whatever movie or show they were watching. But the physical act and its deeper sexual implications often got Chris’s blood burning, and before either knew it he would have Tom bent over the arm of the sofa, thrusting both fingers and cock into him. Afterward, sated and exhausted, they would lay on the couch again, Tom sucking Chris’s thumb all over again.

Chris finished the first draft of his dissertation in early August, around the same time as his birthday. Wanting to surprise him, Tom bought him a cake with ice cream and ten pink and purple balloons with money from his paycheck. He took the bus to his house Saturday morning, the day after he turned thirty-four.

"You don't have family?" he'd asked him one time, but Chris shook his head.

"My parents and my brothers are back home in Melbourne. I was the only one who went away."

"Good," Tom murmured, bending low over Chris's groin. "I have you to myself, then."

Chris would be defending his dissertation before Christmas. If he passed, he would receive his doctorate, and have more freedom in his workload and what he taught and when.

“I’ll be able to take even better care of you, babe,” he vowed, snuggled together in the dark.

Tom smiled at the memory, heart feeling full of light.

Holding the cake and bag of ice cream in his lap, balloon strings clutched tight in one hand, Tom sat hunched on the bus, backpack of overnight things pressed to his back. His mother thought he was spending the night at "Brandon's" again; ironically, he didn't even know anyone by that name. He couldn’t wait for the moment he turned eighteen, and he would have more freedom in how he spent his time, and with whom.

Walking into Chris's neighborhood, he went by the back alley and through the wooden gate into Chris's yard. He'd always thought that Chris's brick house was really adorable, even if Chris thought that it was too small. "But it was all I could afford on my salary this close to the university."

He had a backyard, with three fruit trees and garden and a tiny cobbled path. Chris rolled his eyes and called it keeping with the college's 'rustic aesthetic'.

Unlocking the back door, Tom let himself in and put the ice cream in the freezer. Chris was at a faculty meeting at the university and wouldn't be back for another hour, so Tom took the time to shower and change the sheets in the bed. He dabbed perfume at his neck and behind his ears and under his navel, and smeared some lip gloss on, keeping a blow pop tucked in his cheek. He fluffed his hair and shaved his face, using some of Chris's soothing lotion on his cheeks.

Wearing Chris's cotton robe, hanging down to his feet, Tom went into the kitchen and arranged the candles he’d bought. He spelled out the numbers '3' and '4', thinking that Chris wouldn't like to see every single year displayed with individual flickers of flame. Setting it on the table with the balloons tied to the chairs, he was tidying up when he heard Chris pull up the drive and hurried to meet him at the door.

Watching him through the window, he saw that Chris looked tired, yanking on his tie and fishing for the right key. Tom opened the door.

Chris's exhausted face split into a relieved smile, crossing over the threshold.

“Baby,” he said, grabbing him up in a big hug. “I missed you.” He took a good whiff of him. “Fuck, you smell so _good_.” He kicked the door closed and walked Tom backwards to the sofa. No more words were said. They simply breathed and kissed and grounded each other with their hugs and shared weight. Chris had started to carry around little packets of lube in his pocket, because they weren’t always guaranteed quick access to the bedroom when the mood struck. And the mood struck often, Chris sometimes lying beside Tom amazed that he went so long without making love to someone, and now doing it multiple times a day.

“You’ll kill me,” he liked to say warmly, bumping their noses together.

Tom would giggle and deny it, because no Daddy, he would never, ever.

Frantic now, Chris pawed at Tom through the cotton robe, whispering a filthy litany of worship, how much he loved him, how much he thought of him whenever they were apart.

“I’m consumed by you, Tom. Like old relics buried at the altars of churches would consume the hearts of the faithful, walking leagues and leagues to worship on their knees before the ancient bones of saints and holy kings.”

Tom moaned and arched up, loving when Chris spoke as if spurred by religious fervor—for that’s how Tom felt when kissed and taken by Chris. He felt adored and worshipped, the entire focus of so great a man, his own.

“I love you, too, Daddy,” he whispered, and Chris’s mouth closed over his, tongues twining. He kissed Tom’s smooth cheeks and jaw, licking a stripe down his neck and sucking at the hollow of his throat. He kissed each ear and bit at each lobe, laughing with Tom at the tickle and squirm. Both nipples were left rosy and hard, the sensitive nubs glistening with saliva. At his navel, Chris moaned and breathed in the scent of his perfume, nosing along the thin trail of hair that was tufted down his pelvis. And there, Chris paused, smelling along the root of his groin, eyes closing in near rapture. Ignoring his erection, Chris moved further down, Tom whining in protest. Both thighs, slim and pale against the dark blue of the open cotton robe were blessed with moist kisses, each kneecap and shin, Chris’s lips trailing in the thin fur of Tom’s legs. By the time he reached his toes, Tom was trembling and desperate, head lifted, watching with glazed eyes. Inside his trousers, Chris was hard, and he eased his zipper down to free himself.

“It’s _your_ birthday,” Tom whispered, voice rough with arousal. “You should be the one relaxing on your back.”

Chris shook his head, that wide, lazy smile taking over his face. “You’re mine. You’re what I want. This is exactly what I dreamed to get.”

A quick tear of plastic and then he was slicking himself up, spreading all the extra on Tom’s entrance. He grasped him hard around the shoulders, mouths latched and moving. Tom writhed as Chris stretched him, fingers clawed in Chris’s shirt. He absolutely loved the feel of being completely nude, the robe spread under him, and Chris still fully clothed, only his cock exposed, thick and erect, balls heavy through the zipper opening. He felt both vulnerable and powerful beyond measure, able to induce such wild emotions in Chris that he couldn’t even wait to remove his clothing before he had to be inside Tom. It was a rough and affectionate fuck, their whispers of love and devotion clashing with the hard slaps of their flesh.

Chris crowded over him, lips hungry and bruising. Tom clenched his legs around Chris’s torso, trying to draw him nearer. But Chris winced and went still. Tom sat up on his elbows, worry pulling his brows together.

“Daddy, what is it?”

Chris patted at his side gingerly, but he was smiling, excited. “I did something today before my meeting. A tattoo.”

“You did? I want to see!”

Still embedded inside him, Chris held still as Tom unbuttoned his shirt and rolled it off his shoulders so that it exposed his chest and belly. A white bandage was taped to Chris’s ribs opposite where his other tattoo was written. Pulling at the corner, Tom peeked under the cotton and saw the black words marked there, the surrounding skin enflamed and red still.

“Tell me,” he breathed, waiting for Chris to translate.

“It says, ’Iba sin luz, iba sin sol y aprendí adorar.’ It means, ‘I went without light, I went without sun, and learned to worship.” He grazed his thumb over Tom’s brow, saw the tears gathering there, and saw that the boy understood. “It’s about you, babe. It’s been about you for a long time.”

Crying openly, Tom let the tears fall and Chris bent quickly to kiss the warm tracks they left. Clutching each other, their urgency overtook them and they started moving again, Tom more careful with how he embraced Chris, with the patch of still healing skin that bore Chris’s adoration for him. But he kissed him still, all the harder, leaving his own bite marks on his shoulders. Pulling out only to discard his trousers, Chris returned to him and resumed his thrusting, Tom’s legs lifted high over his head, bent nearly double on the sofa.

They had tried every position. Tom favored when Chris took him from behind, and lying crushed under him face to face. They both loved when Tom rode him, or when they spooned and Chris slipped into him. But Tom knew that Chris loved above anything else, to look him in the eye when they made love. He took in every flitting emotion, every noise and gasp, eyes sharp on Tom’s face, whispering that he loved him.

He knew every angle now, every way to make Tom come undone. And sometimes he teased him mercilessly, only dragging along that sensitive gland inside, so that Tom keened and pleaded, eyes rolling back and nearly fainting when Chris finally relented and let him come. In a similar fashion, he took his time fucking into Tom this time, rolling them on their sides, tucking Tom’s leg under his arm to hold him open.

“Daddy, I’m…I’m so close. Let me come, please, Daddy. Let me come.”

“You wanna come, baby?”

Tom fisted his hair and nodded eagerly.

“Tell me you love me.”          

“I _love_ you, Daddy. I love you so much. I love you with everything I am, everything I’ll ever be. I’m yours.”

And Chris mewled into his cheek, smiling. “Thank you, Tom. I love you more.”

Without having to be told, he pushed three fingers into Tom’s mouth, and the boy started sucking, moaning his content as he tugged at his swollen cock. He came with a relieved groan, teeth nibbling at Chris’s knuckles.

And when Chris came, he pushed Tom down and emptied into him, keeping his hips up so that none would spill out. He especially liked it when his cum stayed inside Tom for as long as possible.

They grinned and laughed together as they lay spent and recovering. Chris’s robe was dotted with Tom’s climax, and they both shone with fresh sweat.

“I’m so hungry,” Chris murmured.

Tom’s eyes popped open. “I have a surprise, Daddy!”

He tugged Chris up and they walked into the kitchen nude.

“What’s all this?” Chris asked, eyes crinkling happily. They strayed to the balloons and decorated cake, his big hand cupping the back of Tom’s head, curls moist and fragrant.

“It was my surprise for you.” Tom looked up at him expectantly, eyebrows lifted, hoping he liked it.

“We won’t need a knife,” Chris said, grabbing his hand. “Just two forks!”

They brought the tub of ice cream and the plate with the cake and sat in front of the TV. They watched Dumb and Dumber, laughing as they shared and fed each other sweets. Afterward, empty plates and the tub of ice cream put away in the freezer, they lay on the couch, stretched out, blinking sleepily at the screen. Chris rested behind Tom, who was nodding off in his arms. And then he startled awake.

“I forgot to sing to you, Daddy.”

“It’s okay, baby. Everything was perfect.”

Tom pouted. “You didn’t get a chance to make a wish or anything.”

“But I did,” Chris disagreed, kissing the back of his head. “I wished for you. Even before my birthday. Months and months ago when I first saw you at the library, walking among the aisles with your books and your cart and your playful eyes. I wished for you since then. Because I’ve wanted you always.”

“Daddy,” Tom whispered, tears brimming over his eyes.

“I can’t wait until you’re of age, babe,” Chris sighed. He wanted to be free in when he showed Tom his affection. He wanted Tom living with him in this house, permanently.

“Me, too,” he whispered, and snuggled closer, drawing Chris’s hand up to his mouth. His fingers slipped inside as if by second nature, and Tom started sucking on them.

“Will you by my little secret?” Chris whispered. “Until then?”

Tom smiled around his fingers, humming pleasantly. He popped off for only a moment. “Yes, Daddy. Your little secret.”

 

End.

**Author's Note:**

> Both of Chris's tattoos are lyrics taken from the songs 'Bendita tu Luz' and 'Eres Mi Religión' by Maná, mixed around a bit by me :)
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)


End file.
